RC#58: Byways and Highways, Part 2

published in Eastern Economist #445, August 13, 2002

Summer weather is still going to be around for a while, so last week I began a story of travelling Ukrainian roads in a car. The trip started out with some good luck. A garage in L’viv had rotated my tires and found a bad tire that was now safely in the spare wheel well. Best of all, the whole thing had cost me about six bucks. We drove away happy as larks and I was certain we were home free.

            Mile after mile, the car drove while the player blasted rock music. Rain came and went. Banks of fog drifted across the road. Night came on.

            The car was driving like a dream. But the gas was getting low and it was well past midnight. I could kick myself as one gas station after another turned out to be closed.

            We turned off onto the Zhytomyr bypass, just after 02:00. There was an open café with flashing lights. I pulled over to ask directions, but I didn’t bother to turn off the engine.

            That’s when I heard the loud, uneven knocking. Maybe it had just overheated and would cool down.

            I ran inside and asked the woman at the cash if there was an open gas station nearby. No.

            I ran back out. The engine was still making really bad noises. I had no idea what was going on. The last time the tape had switched off, we hadn’t heard a thing.

            I knew there was a huge 24-hour truck stop just the other side of Zhytomyr. Maybe the car would make it there, about 10 klicks away. We were only an hour and a half from Kyiv and I was counting on being home by 04:00. Now I was about to lose my engine.

            I pulled back out onto the road. The rattled knock continued.

            Sure enough, about two kilometers along, here was a loud ping and the engine stopped altogether.

            “The piston’s blown through the engine wall,” I said gloomily to my travelling companion. “Fifteen hundred bucks, I’ll bet,” I said, thinking about the cost of a rebuild back home. “And we’re nowhere near a repair shop.”

            I coasted the car as long as I could in the dark. It finally rolled to a stop at what looked like a truck turnout. It was now 02:30 in the morning.

            I put the blinkers on, lowered the headlights and hauled out the triangular emergency reflector that is mandatory equipment in Ukraine – thank god.

            There was still some traffic, particularly trucks, so I stuck my hand way out to flag someone down. I even tried waving my hands up and down like an idiot.

            It made no difference. Not a single car or truck stopped. One truck beep-beeped as it went by. Of course, the pesky highway police were home in their warm beds, not patroling the nation’s roadways.

            This was my worst nightmare come true. Like being stuck in the mountains of Idaho or the Ensenada highway in Mexico.

            After half an hour, I gave up. “I guess we’re sleeping in the car,” I told Nadia. “But I think we’re parked in the middle of an intersection, so we’d better move the car forward.”

            “No, we’re not. It’s paved here,” she responded.

            “I’m pretty sure it’s a crossroads and I don’t want some idiot piling into our side at high speed in the dark.”

            We got out and rolled the car a few meters forward. Then we turned the lights off and packed it in.

            I woke up to a grey morning. Five thirty. I looked around. Sure enough, we were on far the edge of a four-way paved intersection.

            There was a little traffic, so I decided to try flagging someone again. Now that there was light, maybe drivers would see that I had a newish import with yellow plates and would stop to help.

            Of course, the minute I opened the door, it started drizzling. After 15 minutes, a Neva jeep stopped. But it already had four people, so they couldn’t help much. “Thanks anyway,” I said.

            Around six o’clock, I decided to start calling some friends in Kyiv who had cars. The signal was very unreliable and I had a hard time getting through.

            Oleh had just turned his car over for repairs and was without wheels for two days.

            Oksana was on the outs with her husband and he refused to help.

            Vitaliy, a professional driver, refused to ask his boss, whom I knew, to let him take time off to drive out and help me.

            Worse, my battery was fading fast. I was getting more and more worried. We couldn’t even get into town because no one was stopping.

            Just then, a man and his two kids came out to pasture a few cows. Nadia offered to go and see if he would let us use his home phone. Twenty minutes later, she was back. “His phone can’t do Kyiv.” By now, it was seven and my cellphone was deader than a doornail.

            Across the road from us was a rundown café. Nadia went to check it out.

            Five minutes later, she was back. “The guy who runs it just got up. He said we can use his plug to juice up the phone.”

            We trudged over. It was small and very shabby, but it had a fireplace. I plugged in the phone and ordered some coffee and tea.

            Some more calls to Kyiv. Nadia’s friend gave her the number of a towing company. They quoted Hr 100 for the call and Hr 4 for every kilometer. That would add up to at least Hr 620, nearly $120 – without even starting on repairs.

            Now, this story does have a happy ending, so stay tuned. •

–from the extensive notes of Pan O.

Part 3 concludes the saga of travelling by car.