This part will be about all sorts of minor preparations, so reading it is still optional.
On the Sunday before the week of departure, I went downtown and dropped off my bike for some minor repairs. The thing is, my pedals were clicking. The bike mechanic at "Trek" was too lazy to figure it out, said it was just the muddy seatpost clicking (which actually does happen a lot), and that he'd cleaned it. The right pedal didn't stop clicking, so I had to go to Hawaii Express, where my coworker Sveta's brother, Romuald, works. Even though he's still in school, the kid knows his stuff — without any preamble, he immediately offered to replace my pedals the second he heard the clicking. Even if it wasn't strictly necessary (which is unlikely), a working bike is way more important to me than cheaping out over 8 lats for the pedal replacement and parts. I also picked up 5 spare spokes, since they vary in length and our team mechanic wouldn't have been able to grab the right ones for my bike.
While I was at it, I dropped by "Maxima", where I bought a stash of food to last until Wednesday and a bike water bottle with a cage (cost me about 2 lats). I also desperately needed some bungee cords to secure random cargo, namely my sleeping bag and mat, onto the bike rack. Honestly, I had no idea what they were called or where to buy them, so I rode out of town empty-handed. But the weather was nice, I was cruising along slowly, so when I spotted a "Depo" store, it struck me that they just might sell the exact thing I needed. I had to dismount with my heavy, full backpack (my big 30-liter Deuter) and trudge inside. There, a nodding acquaintance named Artur, a buddy of my classmate Andrey — just in case anyone knows him — pointed me toward the automotive aisle. Greed wrestled with foresight for a bit, and eventually, the latter won out — I bought a whole mountain of bungee cords with hooks.
First, a "spider" net, and second, a set of 6 cords, 2 of each length, in different colors too. They all came in extremely handy, especially the medium ones (about 40 centimeters, I'd guess). Given their ridiculous price, I highly recommend them to everyone. The quality isn't perfect, though — during the trip, one hook flew off on its own, but that was an easy fix.
As for the actual departure, I left work early on Wednesday evening to get ready. My stuff and the bike were already packed, but I still wanted to hit the post office. The thing is, I had ordered a protective case for my iPhone, a screen protector, and an AA battery charger from DX. Oddly enough, it all arrived exactly on the day before my flight, and I took my sweet time picking this junk up. Jumping ahead, I'll say that the case didn't fit the iPhone, because it was meant for the older iPhone 2G, which I hadn't noticed. The emergency charger using AA batteries never ended up working, reasons unknown. At first, it showed it was charging, but it was actually draining the battery. And now it doesn't do anything at all.
On the other hand, the screen protector turned out to be indispensable — considering I usually just toss my things wherever, the iPhone really took a beating. If it weren't for the protector, I'd have a scratched-up screen.
I forgot to write about packing the bike, by the way. Pedals are unscrewed with a 15mm wrench — but in the repair shops, it's of gigantic size and strength, so they really screw them in tight. Then, when you try to take them off with a regular store-bought wrench, it easily bends or snaps. My wrench with the words "drop forge" unbent immediately, as did another one that was brought to replace it. Fortunately, there was time to drive to the shop and ask the mechanic to loosen them. Another decent option is the old Soviet wrenches stamped with "chrome vanadium". According to the global conspiracy theory (which, I suspect, will be mentioned more than once throughout this story), modern wrenches with such an inscription guarantee no quality whatsoever.
So on Wednesday evening, when I was leaving on the train, my bike and gear were sitting at the city branch of RTU, from where they were supposed to be picked up and taken to the airport in a minibus on Thursday morning.
Since I hadn't eaten anything since morning, but I still had some time to kill, I dropped by the local branch of the American-Mexican restaurant Tex Mex. They've got a promo going right now called "El Fucko Crisis" — on weekdays until 6:00 PM, for just 2 lats, you can get a juice and eat two burritos. Still not a soul in there, though.
As for me, I scarfed down an "Obama" burrito and slurped up some cold beet soup. Both turned out to taste pretty good. Another funny thing is that the spoons in the restaurant are really hefty — makes for a funny sensation.
After that, I managed to run into Cobergs Optika, where I bought some glasses cleaner for 3 lats. Here the marketers got me — as a bonus, it came with a mini-screwdriver with interchangeable heads (looks high quality) and a little cloth. I carried that screwdriver with me the whole time — it made it through all the customs checks in my carry-on, even though it's generally forbidden.
Then I swung by Hawaii Express again, where I asked if they had CamelBaks for my Deuter backpack. Unlike Trek, they had actually heard of them, but they only sell them bundled with a backpack, so I was out of luck. Igor, who I rode the train to Riga with, calls the CamelBak (aka hydration pack) a drinking trough and thinks it's not very convenient, so I didn't lose much, except maybe the chance to waste money.
We arrived in Riga on a diesel train, crashed at Maris's and his brother Edik's place. They live near the LaRocca nightclub, and we trudged all the way there on foot because Shchukin is a fan of hiking. In principle, it didn't turn out to be that far, about two and a half kilometers. My memory failed me a bit regarding the distance, I don't visit Riga much. Once we got there, we turned into a dark alleyway, but we were deftly recognized and told where to go. It's like a freaking village — everyone knows everyone. Inside, Maris, just like we did earlier, was successfully breaking 15mm wrenches trying to unscrew his pedals. I gotta say, Maris is as hardcore as a Chelyabinsk sysadmin — he started filing down a 14mm wrench. Luckily, he didn't need to see the process through to the end — his buddy rode up on a bike and brought a proper wrench. The populace, meanwhile, was consuming beer and discussing the geopolitical situation inside their native educational institution — Edik, like Igor, is a lecturer at RTU. On top of that, he's a mountain climber/sports hiker. How that aligns with constant beer and vodka binges is a bit hard for me to understand.
Also, Edik reported that the Southern Bridge isn't crooked at all — it's supposed to be like that, just like all similar structures. I quote: "This is the normal state of a strut-frame cable-stayed bridge. It's overtightened on one side and undertightened on the other, and over time this compensates itself." This illustrates my favorite fact — if you're not an expert, your judgments will sound like armchair philosophy and severely piss off the professionals. Applies to any field, by the way.
Edik unscrewing the pedals on Maris's bike. As we can see, with some difficulty
These are mountaineering boots, supposedly partially made of carbon. A rather terrifying contraption — it's like strapping sixteen-kilo kettlebells to your feet. But the chance of getting hurt is lower, and they're warm.
In the next part, I'll cover the flight out and the arrival.