Southern Poland to Belarus

Day 92 - Częstochowa, Poland to Grodno, Belarus - 6 hours, 315 miles. I don't have a single picture or substantial GoPro footage from Auschwitz to the border of Belarus--a testament to the nature of this day of riding.

Well...I have this one...

Entry into Belarus is tricky. A five-day tourist visa required sponsorship from a tour company ($$$), so I signed up for a 48-hour visa. I'd planned to enter in the south from Ukraine and exit on the northern border into Lithuania. The consulate disapproved this, saying I would not be able to make it across the country by land in that amount of time. They've apparently not seen how I ride. However, there's a small region in the northwest corner that grants permits to enter a "visa-free zone." Costs just $12 for instant approval online. Boom! Back in business.

Green and I plowed through 300 miles of quite homogeneous farmland before joining a mile-long line to cross the border. So, I expected customs to be thorough...but not this slow. I arrived at the border at 5pm and spent 5 hours there. Every evening, a horde of Belorussians return from shopping sprees in Lithuania and Poland, bringing every kind of good back with them, from washing machines to watermelons. Because Green is considered a temporary import (I'm still waiting for his passport to be approved), we had to wait among the mules.

A curious teenage boy, Artur, admired Green for awhile, as the police fumbled around with my passport. He finally approached me with a handful of questions about the trip, showed me pictures of his motorcycle, and provided a few reasons why he would love to spend more time outside Belarus. Friendly as they were, customs agents simply took a long time to process each car and eventually my motorcycle. Finally, at 10pm, when it was nearly dark, we were set free. Days here provide 16.5 hours of light, but it was pitch black when we wandered into Grodno. I parked the Green in a guarded, unlit hotel parking lot and slammed my final two cans of tuna. Despite this feeling like the most shady areas we'd stayed yet, I quickly passed out from nearly 12 hours of travel.

The next morning, the city had an entirely different feel. The dark parking lot attendant shack I'd reluctantly entered the night before was not the same. A creepy many backlit by an ancient TV was replaced by a smiling friend who spoke not a word of English but loved the fact that I was an American on my own motorcycle in Belarus. He hurriedly beckoned another man who was intently mowing the lawn, and I talked them through the route, using the map on Green's top box. I often picture a friend leaning over as I write a note on his back...that's what Green happily does each time someone admires him and the route.