Now I can write about it

There were a few odd things about Saturday’s bike ride, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to make a story out of it. Now that I know some more details, I’ll tell you what happened.

I started out on my favorite road, towards the Minsk Sea. Thoughtlessly, I turned right toward the Presidential Compound, following my early-morning route rather than going straight to the sea as I intended. I thought I could correct my error if I rode across a field and figured out how to get across the highway that encircles the city.

As I approached the field, I noticed an unusual number of highly-attentive policemen just before I saw a busload of young men in white shirts with walkie-talkies. I figured they really didn’t want me in the neighborhood so I went directly across the field. There was another person in the field with me, in a car, and I was weirded-out enough that I took the road he didn’t take. I ended up riding up to a cop anyway, so I asked him how to get across the highway. I tried to ask him if I could get through the culvert I saw up the road, but didn’t manage to make myself understood. Nevertheless, he wanted me to go that direction anyway so I did.

When I went down to see if the culvert were big enough and dry enough for me to cross under the road, I saw a single figure sitting on the ground at the far end of the ditch. What the heck; I went. When I got closer, I realized that it was a soldier in uniform, which felt a lot safer to me than the derelict I had first imagined.

I explored several beaches along the Minsk Sea before heading back home. I wanted to go back around the Presidential Compound because it’s the quietest way back. I had previously discovered some pathways from the Minsk Sea along an inlet and a river, and I proceeded that way towards the city.

I passed an amazing number of cops and military guys, especially under every bridge and overpass. I figured there was some reason for extra security but couldn’t figure out what it would be. Finally, as I approached the end of the bike path, one of those white-shirt guys stepped out and asked me to get off my bike and take a break for a few minutes. OK.

Other people began accumulating under the tree with me, but the guard on the other side of the road was letting people by. I think my guard was more cautious than the other, but I didn’t argue with him. I figured we’d see a presidential motorcade soon, and maybe that would be exciting somehow.

Things reached a frenzy for me when I heard the roar of a lot of motorcycles. Some of them sounded distinctly like Harley-Davidsons, but not all of them. The volume rose and fell as the motorcycles went by unseen, on the main road perpendicular to the presidential-access road where we were blocked.

We waited some more.

Finally, the presidential motorcade came by: One nice Chrysler lead car, a black Mercedes with a flag on the fender, and another nice Chrysler. That was it? What was the deal about all the motorcycles I heard. And why all the cops? Do they do this every time the President goes out for groceries?

The Secret Service guy let me get back onto my bike. As I approached Drozde, the presidential motorcade returned, the flag removed from the Mercedes. As I rode around the compound, I finally saw a few police motorcycles. The Belarusian cops ride sport bikes with blue lights on the front. I’m sure they are much faster than the Harleys our cops drive, but they’re also a lot quieter than the bikes I heard earlier. No story here.

Then today Alla challenged me to read an article in the newspaper. It was about President Lukashenko’s adventure on Saturday when an international motorcycle festival came to Minsk. At the culmination of the festival, one of the organizers offered President Lukashenko the opportunity to ride on a Harley-Davidson. The president put his young son on the seat in front of him and led everybody down the street where I could hear it.

I’m not sure I fully understand this security system. The President was out there riding around on a huge motorcycle without a helmet on while hundreds of security people protected him from bad guys. I wish one of the cops had handed him a helmet. And I wish I were there to see it.

Here are more pictures for you.