I woke up at 6:30 a.m. and prepared everything before Vadim arrived at 7:00 a.m. to see me off. The morning was cold, and I could feel it in my bones. Vadim rode with me to the city’s outskirts, where we said our goodbyes just as dawn was breaking. From there, I rode the remaining 60 km to the border, arriving around 9:30 a.m. This leg of my journey was by far the hardest as the poor road conditions met the biting cold that seemed to cut straight through me.

Unfortunately, I missed the opportunity to pass through with the small group of cars in front of me and had to wait about 10 minutes at the barrier. The border crossing itself went smoothly. Both the Kazakh and Russian controls processed me without issues, and this time, the Russian officers didn’t even bother to check my bags. In less than an hour, I was back on Russian soil.

A family request

Today’s journey held a deeper purpose. My brother had asked me to research the location of a Soviet labor camp where Daniela’s great-grandmother, my future sister-in-law’s ancestor, had been deported. Initially, I thought this wouldn’t be too difficult, but with so little information, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

I only had a point on the map to follow: Sosnovka. I stopped at a gas station about 40 km from the turnoff to refuel and warm up a bit. While there, I tried to research more information about the labor camps but realized that my SIM card wasn’t working. Most likely, activating roaming in Kazakhstan had drained the remaining balance. Unable to top it up at the gas station, I was forced to purchase a new SIM card instead.

Despite my efforts, I didn’t find much beyond an interactive map that placed one of the labor camps northwest of Tyumen. That was nowhere near where I had planned to search. A gas station attendant pointed me towards Sosnovka, but I later realized she had misunderstood my request and was simply directing me to the village itself, not to the labor camp.

Navigating under confusion

Following her directions, I ended up in Kosheleva, a small, seemingly deserted village. I managed to find two locals to ask for information, but they had no idea what I was looking for. I decided to continue towards Sosnovka, choosing the shortest route over dirt and mud rather than backtracking to take the paved roads.

Once in Sosnovka, I asked around but got the same response: no one seemed to know anything about a labor camp. Frustrated, I called my brother and spoke to Daniela. That’s when I realized the information I had was inaccurate. There had never been a labor camp in this area. Instead, Daniela’s great-grandmother had been deported from the Zavodoukovskaya railway station in Zavodoukovsk, a town not far from where I was. Her great-uncle was born in Sosnovka, and her grandmother had been registered in Lebedevka, about 40 km north.

With this new information, my mission changed. Instead of searching for a labor camp, I needed to find the local administration building or town hall and document the place.

Seeking official records

I asked for directions and was told the administration building was near the village school. When I arrived, a man introduced himself as Sergey, an English and German teacher, and offered to help with translations. At 2:20 p.m., we entered the administration, where Sergey spoke to an employee about checking village records.

Despite making calls to other local administrations, including Novaya Zaimka and Lebedevka, we found no concrete records. The closest we came was when Novaya Zaimka provided the phone number of a 67-year-old widow whose late husband had the same surname as Daniela’s ancestors. She also vaguely recalled hearing stories about relatives from Moldova, adding an unexpected layer to the family history.

A race against time

Although I had gained an hour due to the time zone change, the sky was darkening, and I knew the sun would set at 5:30 p.m. I decided to make a quick detour to Lebedevka to take a photo of the village before returning to the main road toward Tyumen.

The road, initially paved, quickly deteriorated. After just 5 km, it became riddled with potholes, making it a slow and frustrating ride. By the time I reached the motorway, thick clouds covered the sky, and I couldn’t tell whether they carried rain or snow. With 1 hour and 30 minutes left to ride, I pushed on, knowing that Nikolai, a contact from Elena, was waiting for me in Tyumen.

I arrived at his house around 6:30 p.m. We shared dinner and stayed up late talking.

A morning walk

The next morning, Nikolai and I left the house at 8:00 a.m. to drop his son off at school. I had originally planned to do some sightseeing after he came back, but we decided it made more sense to go together now and avoid making two trips.

We first stopped near a bridge I had visited with Andrei four years ago. Nearby, I saw one of the city’s eternal flames, set in front of a wooden fortress replica representing the origins of Tyumen. The original fortress had burned down and was later replaced by a stone structure, shaped like a church, standing further back. The city had another eternal flame, this one electric, next to a newer candle-shaped monument.

We continued our tour by car and returned home by 10:30 a.m. The cold was settling in, and the sky remained blanketed in white.

Onward to Ekaterinburg

I estimated about five hours of riding, with enough time for a meal stop on the way. I left Tyumen at 11:00 a.m., stopping around 1:00 p.m. at a roadside café. For less than 400 rubles (€4), I enjoyed soup, coffee, eggs with sausages, and a sausage wrapped in puff pastry. A simple but comforting meal that helped me recharge.

After six hours on the road, I arrived in Ekaterinburg, where Artiëm and his dog, Belyy, were waiting for me. We parked the bike before continuing for a walk he had already started. Before entering the parking lot, the guard asked for the vehicle registration certificate, a document confirming the bike’s temporary presence in the city. Since it was already after 6:00 p.m., we couldn’t obtain it that evening. The guard wasn’t comfortable with it but Artiëm reassured him promising we would handle it the next day.

Once in the apartment, I met his wife, Katia, and their daughter, Dasha. They married in February 2022, and Dasha is about to turn one in a couple of weeks. As I hadn’t met Katia before, Artiëm shared that they had known each other for over a decade, but their relationship had flourished in recent years. We celebrated my arrival and spent the night catching up until midnight.