Once in the icy winter time,
When rain and warm in December,
I sat there and slowly thinking about the sea,
On the sun of summer and warmth.
Suddenly, chu, bell rings out,
City Code see a stranger.
And suddenly the carriage accident nabetsya,
In another country, where the climate is different.
Premonition slopes – a special feeling,
Comes with years, and live for ever.
And turning into such an art
Where there is no perfection, where the eternal flight.
Clicking on the mobile, saying “hello”,
I received a visit to Tashkent at Christmas.
Two kids, Tekintsi to Moscow to bring,
And what would the way they were not lime.
Feed and drink them on the road especially,
Pass all the customs are not lost the path.
Need to drive carefully, not harshly,
And for Christmas come to take them to Moscow.
Plucked slowly – so many ways,
Scored on the road Kharchev and water.
Spare parts, clothes and medicines in a casket
Blankets, drove, himself last.
His companion – a cheerful driver-trucker,
Did you see the way a lot of everything.
Added slowly he Klyuchikov in a box
Victor Vikulovich are calling it.
Coming on the route Moscow-Astana,
We understood right away – what a misfortune
At small frost – solid ice,
And a lot of cars goes nowhere.
Rode Penza, turning to Samara,
Slept nicely, eaten on the go.
Reaching the Customs and turning off lights,
We saw the snow, and then it’s pitch.
The officer boldly out of the booth,
Pulls his cap, he’s an officer.
I saw the trailer – beauty, like a fairy tale.
And the two men rasprekrasnyh manners.
After registration, placing print
We went out into the darkness of the country of Kazakhstan.
But the road broke – fell asleep in Uralsk.
We decided to sleep it off, because tomorrow snowstorm.
Morning woke up – around the beauty
Including a full drive, lowering the brakes.
Let’s go boldly stepped on the gas,
Desert with a smile greeted us.
Beautiful trail, large interchanges
Gas stations, motels, parking, cafe.
So everything is drawn in an old atlas,
In fact, the road was not everywhere.
The broken asphalt, gravel filled up,
An excellent site for the rally “KAMAZ”.
Flying up the mountain, raising the crest,
Again and again pressed on the gas.
Here caravans, one after another,
The route was they were silk, carpets and furs.
They have for months, and we are one day,
We decided to go this route in full.
Oh, people living in this country,
You remember the life of Genghis Khan.
Narrow-eyed devils met me,
He taught me the basics dastarkhan.
Here meat is cheaper potatoes
Gasoline mined everywhere.
Sit on the floor, drinking tea on a mat,
And about the way tell me.
The desert took us to embrace
Blowing out us at minus-seven.
I learned that the black-Kara-curse,
Sand is the “godfather” in the steppe.
Tractor and trailer on the sly,
Wading in salt marshes.
They arrived at the Aral Sea lightly,
Do not tearing anything on the road.
The Aral Sea is the sea, the Aral Sea is the sun,
The Aral Sea is a seagull flying upwards.
Huge waves are visible from the window,
They stand ships not seen the rivers.
That dream was about the sea and sun,
And the cawing of seagulls just outside the window.
Barchans snow just sparkled in the sun,
And we were cold in fact.
After eating and pouring more gasoline,
Check the wheels, sealed the box.
Let’s go further into the wilderness of smaller
“Golden Sands” – so her name.
Autobahn “Kizilkum” to Shymkent,
And then Tashkent-light in the darkness.
Oriental Bazaar where huge amounts of money,
Piles of goods, keep only the tenge.
Seeing the funny Tekints in the pen,
Beautiful harness the sun shines.
We explained to the local jargon,
What we have to carry off – the owner asks.
Entering into konevoz, signing documents,
In Russian, Kazakh, a little bit different.
Then a translator at the customs breaks,
But the amount of KZT enough everywhere.
Way back lay through the valley,
With the city its name is Chu.
There all addicts have a “raspberry”
The people are warm, pass entry of need.
We entered the valley, and suddenly the battle chimes,
And remember we – NEW YEAR!
No lights and no clinking of glasses,
Valleys, plains and around the bare ice.
What we wanted – then God knows
Hurry to get there – after all the heat in Moscow.
And then minus twenty – a cursed place,
Drifts, blizzards, Kazakhs everywhere.
The next morning drove the sea Balkhash
Towards the Kazakh capital of the province.
Ate in the Uzbek village of hash,
Hardly him from shurpa differences.
All the meat that we ate on the road,
Once ran somewhere in the steppe.
Bellowed and bleated, even meow,
Neighed and bark, the wings flapped.
Car on the track around,
They stand waiting for customers.
Which road, so is the reception,
But we have avoided the terrible moments.
As we slowly rolled across the ice,
Horses on the will of the dream.
By quietly ate their entire meal
And together on the walls rattled.
On reaching the capital city of Kazakhstan,
Replenish food or water.
Car turned on sverhavtoban,
I boldly went to the border.
The border with Russia, you are so dear to us,
We broke through to you through the drifts.
Customs barely looked at us,
I did not ask unnecessary questions.
Well, hello Russia – accept sons
Our path is to the Urals.
Ural mountains to go faster.
And do not get stuck in the mountain passes.
Gone are the passes and became warmer,
Thawed legs and ears.
We need to get close to Moscow faster
Give the horses, lost sleep, eat.
No adventure travel the whole route,
Great art, guys.
At the same time because the horse riding and neigh,
After all, they have foals.
Towards the capital of Russia – Moscow
Noise meets us special,
Normal traffic jams – they cry out: “Hurray”
Menta smile look cheerful.
The trip took place as usual quiet
Only car wash load carried.
Replacement of the bridge suffered a Jeep with dignity,
I filters in the garbage pail claimed.
Reliable service is not “AVTOLAYTA”
There everything will change, except to say something.
Purchase orders store megabytes
And all take, no matter what.
Unscrew and remove any parts,
Screw on, welded reliably all.
So that we went to where the road was terrible,
And come back without any interference.
Works where the master – receiver, special,
He understands everything about our cars.
Our questions are always responsible,
Badge – Vinogradov on his jacket.
And waiting in the future,
I think that in the early,
Roads not so find.
Now I’m in the icy winter time,
I sit and do not know what to say to my father.
I hope he will forgive me that’s the manner
So paint the track, and this is the end.
Comments (0) Nov 21 2009