The Lada Legend: Our First Great Voyage – Part 2

The Colonel may look a lot more at home in the regions, but it was most certainly built for city driving. In Baku, no grade is steeper than probably 4%. Compare that to the regions where you’ll find grades pushing 14%. If only the Colonel could talk….

The road from the cafe winds its way up, switchback style, for about fifteen kilometres. Poor Colonel Mustard. We passed cafe after cafe promising “the best view of the valley below” and succulent “lule kebab”. Or was it kebab lule? I can never remember. There were even a few dubious “rest zones” and “rest centres” near the top. I always wonder how much rest you can really get at places like that.

Eventually we made it to the top of the ridge and began are descent into Shamaxi. It was here that the guy from the other car we were travelling with requested that he take some pictures of the Colonel from his car because “it looks ridiculous.” We never did see those pictures.

Shamaxi is famous for one thing: a caged bear. It sits right on the edge of town outside two hotel/restaurants. Passersby can stop and marvel at the king of the forest or even feed it the remainder of a Snickers bar or bottle of Coca-Cola. Anyone that has ever seen a bear in the wilderness will tell you this bear is among the most decrepit you will ever see. It’s quite sad, really. I wonder if this bear will one day suffer the same fate as the mythical “Gebele” bear.

The next day we headed back to Baku. It was a largely uneventful voyage save for being stopped by the cops at a checkpoint. I happened to pass a truck inside the no pass zone (oops). This was witnessed by one of the cops inside the checkpoint office. As I approached, he came running out of the office with his orange wand and directed me over to the side of the road. I obeyed and pulled over. My strategy again: pretend not to speak Russian or Azerbaijani. It worked last time, so chances are it would work again.

The cop came up to the window and greeted me in Azerbaijani. I shrugged my shoulders. He then tried Russian. That elicited the same response. Perplexed, he took a look at each person in the car (a Nepalese guy, a white girl, and a black girl), realized that none of them could speak his language, wrinkled his face in disgust at a wasted opportunity to levy a fine on some unsuspecting foreigners, and waved us on our way.

Twenty kilometres later, the Colonel was safely parked in its usual spot. All in all, we travelled five hundred kilometres. A good test, indeed.