I woke up early and made the Belarus border when light was just breaking, but I had to wait in the cold diesel fumes of a kilometer plus long line of semis and autos wanting to cross. Three checkpoints and several stamps on a piece of paper later I was in the now independent but former Soviet Socialist Republic of Belarus. At the last checkpoint the officials were looking doubtfully at my bike and asking me questions that I couldn’t understand, until some helpful citizens started answering the questions for me in a reprimanding tone to the official and I was promptly waved on. I could understand their agitation – that border was a bureaucratic hassel to cross through – but the non-official people were nice. Not long after making my way through the border I was in wide open fields, running past small lakes and ponds. This partially-frozen lake was full of ice fishers, which seemed dangerous to me because, as you can see, the ice is really thin or totally melted in places, but I suppose they knew what they were doing. (12-18-04)

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Belarus Ice Fishers