Hiking on Fisht Video

(Actually, the hike was more like 15 miles, we came to find out later, instead of 9).
But yeah, this is from the trip to Mt. Fisht, and it's a shame on the one hand that we didn't make it, but then again, they were only recommending that groups with climbing and snow equipment make the attempt to summit (we had neither, btw).

Eating in Russia

Coca-Cola FTW.

Just a quick glimpse of life over here in Krasnodar.

Russia Post 6: Ice Inside Your Soul

Hey folks

Well, today marks the return from yet another camping excursion, again to the quasi-autonomous republic of Adygea, camping on the shores of the White River. Steve took the kids first of all to “The Screaming Rock” named so because of the 25 foot or so drop to the flowing river below. Apparently it’s been a really rainy season, so the river was about 12 feet higher than normal, and about twice as fast. So with this comforting knowledge given by Steve, his kids (Madi, Cady, and Aubrey) all jumped in, followed by Rachel Fisher, Tasha Wilson, and Analea Thielke. Now, we guys were off course being chivalrous in letting the girls go first (it had nothing to do with hesitating about jumping 25 feet into a fast moving glacial river, I assure you). Once everyone else had gone, Caleb, Steve, and I all braced and jumped in.

I have swum in a lake on top of a Colorado Mountain. I have splashed in the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of December. I have been buried in a snowdrift above my head. I say all this to explain to you that I’m no wuss and that I have a very firm grasp on the concept of “cold.”

THAT was cold.

For a brief instant, I’m almost sure that my SOUL separated from my corporeal form and I could see my own body in the water. Then it came rushing back, with this intense feeling like a thousand needles were being jammed into ever square inch of my skin. Then I erupted from the water, gasping for breath, and attempting to swim to shore, as the current was taking me downstream and my hands were clenched into fists that refused to release themselves. I heard a voice screaming a battlecry that would have done the Mighty Thor proud. I suddenly realized that it was my own voice. So within a few moments of jumping into this river, I lost all sense of feeling, my motor skills, my breath, and my voice (I was hoarse for the rest of day).

So we pitched our tents and the next day, Steve and the rest of us set off on the rafts to go along the river. They were not HUGE rafts, only big enough for about 3 people, so I think the term “inflatable canoe” might be a better one. But Caleb, Jonathan Fisher, and I got in one, and Steve, Mr. Fisher, and Timothy Fisher were in the other. We rafted with fair ease, until we came upon one tricky part of the river, that had it been any other, drier season would have been no problem.

But it had not been dry and this was a problem. 

Caleb with the two Fisher boys... looking Awesome.

We dodged certain and possible pointy death at every turn. Trees with branches sharpened by the rushing water stood on the sides of the banks, which the rocks and currents endeavored to throw us against.

Well anyway, that’s what it seemed like… :P but there about Class 2 rapids with about two choke-points in the river that I put as a Class 3 rapids. It was a LOT of fun and you really had to stay on your toes to keep from tipping over. And everytime you hit a bump, FREEZING x20 water sloshed into the boat, drenching all passengers and sending us into the throes of hypothermia…. But we loved every minute of it! 

Steve & Christine Hayes , Terri and Matt Fisher

Russian Post 5: Bicycles: Transportation or Deathtraps?

Well, today not only represents Independence Day (Down with the British! Bring out your tea!!) but also it has been one full month since Caleb and I have arrived in Krasnodar.  

Well, probably the biggest of my adventures I can relate in Krasnodar (since Mt. Fisht) was taking my life into my own hands by venturing out on the streets of Krasnodar on a bicycle. That’s right folks, Kolya (A Russian friend of ours), Caleb, and yours truly took to the streets astride bikes. :-O.

For those of you who know me well, you will know that bikes and myself have less than an amicable relationship. In fact, I could say we pretty much hated each other. It’s kinda like having an evil ex-girlfriend that you can’t stand to be with but whom all your best friends hang out with all the time. But I stray from the point. For the first time in probably 3 years, I hopped on a bike and decided that I would face my past and DO THIS!

The resulting ride played out something similar to the plotline of one of the Final Destination horror flicks. Ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Yeah…

At first, just to get my guard down, the ride went smoothly; we were weaving our way through the traffic I have covered in a previous post, and the swarming horde of pedestrians that I am determined to dedicate a future post to. I actually succeeded in jumping a few curbs, which is quite a feat for me on a bike (please, hold your applause…stay seated, please…). Then, just as we got to just about the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN, it happened. For those among you who may not be well-versed in bike paraphernalia, the pedals (that’s those things you press your feet against to make it go) are supposed to remain firmly attached to the bike. Mine… didn’t. SOMEHOW, someway, the right pedal came unscrewed from bike and fell off. This is a bad turn of events. Fortunately, I was not around people at the time this happened. But I did lay my bike over mid-pedal, which was not a fun experience. But after finding a helpful Russian (another miracle) who loaned us a wrench and reattaching the pedal (quite firmly), we were on our way once again, with ignorant me thinking that the quip was “the thing that would go wrong for the day” and I could relax and enjoy the ride home.

I was wrong.

I WILL make a quick (and brief) comment about pedestrians now (to be expanded later). They’re CRAZY! Russia has crosswalks, same as anybody else, but apparently babushkas and stariki (translation: Old ladies and old men) think that they’ve lived so long, they can cross the street anywhere they FEEL like, and they can take forever to do it.

I digress.

This elderly lady then crosses the street in front of me… and calmly, I turn the handles of my bike to perform a standard “go around the pedestrian” maneuver. My handles turned, but my wheel didn’t….

:-/

Apparently the screw that affixes the handles to the wheel had come loose, and I could now turn the handlebars completely around, without so much as moving the front wheel… And now I am barreling down the street headed for an old lady.

Desperate, I reached into my Bag-O-LifeSaving Tricks and concocted a brilliant getaway plan: I threw my weight to one side, sending the bike crashing to the ground, with myself still firmly planted in the driver’s seat. (Word to the Wise: The designer that decided that the seat of a bicycle needs to be that skinny needs to be drawn and quartered. When your gluteus maximus slams on that thing hard enough… it can lead to major pain in posterior regions. Just sayin’.)  Now I have successfully avoided the elderly lady (who incidently, kept on walking; I’m not 100% sure she was even aware that I crashed my bike directly behind her) INTO the SIDE WALL of a building.

For those that doubted before, I CAN actually hit the broadside of barn. With my face.

We succeeded in jury-rigging the handlebars (with American Boy Scout skills) and made it safely home without further incident (like any more was needed).

I’ve decided that my obituary will almost inevitably read, “Traveled the World. Braved Many Dangers. Had Many Adventures. Killed by Bicycle.”

Do Svidaniya, my friends! And Happy Independence DAY!!!