1412
Zhytomyr - Kiev trophies.
915.13
I came across a poster from Camel Trophy, I remember.
1991, end of October. Two friends travel from Kiev to Ternopil on business. The vehicle is a Moskvich 412, if anyone remembers one. Noble trough.
We drove 200 kilometers from Kiev, the driver is trying to smoke. The driver is not very experienced. The passenger has even less experience. Ash falls on the trousers of the driver, he throws the steering wheel and begins to furiously shake off the ashes. The car starts to move to the right. The passenger screams utterly: "Cavet!!!" The steering wheel turns sharply to the left, the car goes into the left ditch, falls through the roof and both sides sank again on the wheels.
Well, let's go out and see. The windshield is gone, a slight bruise of the whole body, but - it goes. The wings were bent with the mount so that the wheels did not cling, turned around - and home. Where else is that?
Late October, the rain is sprinkling, the breeze is invigorating, two friends in their ashes like tuaregs are wrapped in scarves to the very eyes - beauty.
Zhytomyr is passing. They see a girl voting on the street. Our machos are steering her. The girl, like a ghost, disappears into the nearest corner.
Keep going. At the exit from the pocket of public transport, the bus, having entered a puddle, rolls the riders in a muddy wave. It gets even more fun to drive.
After about five hours, having set a record for passing the track, the wanderers get home. The guard in the parking lot, seeing the arrival of the ship, slightly falls from his perch. And then, on top of that, they get caught up by the GAI car. They were curious, you know, where it came from.
Well, they told the Gaians the route, they called back to Zhytomyr (and they also knew about it there), scolded, and let go. What else?
Yeah, that's it. Except for one thing. Fate sometimes gives us signs and labels. There. The driver of that arsehole is holding a garage right now. Miami. And indeed. A person who knows how to at least just move on the Moskvich, with the rest in this life, and especially with the repair of normal equipment, will cope without straining.
I came across a poster from Camel Trophy, I remember.
1991, end of October. Two friends travel from Kiev to Ternopil on business. The vehicle is a Moskvich 412, if anyone remembers one. Noble trough.
We drove 200 kilometers from Kiev, the driver is trying to smoke. The driver is not very experienced. The passenger has even less experience. Ash falls on the trousers of the driver, he throws the steering wheel and begins to furiously shake off the ashes. The car starts to move to the right. The passenger screams utterly: "Cavet!!!" The steering wheel turns sharply to the left, the car goes into the left ditch, falls through the roof and both sides sank again on the wheels.
Well, let's go out and see. The windshield is gone, a slight bruise of the whole body, but - it goes. The wings were bent with the mount so that the wheels did not cling, turned around - and home. Where else is that?
Late October, the rain is sprinkling, the breeze is invigorating, two friends in their ashes like tuaregs are wrapped in scarves to the very eyes - beauty.
Zhytomyr is passing. They see a girl voting on the street. Our machos are steering her. The girl, like a ghost, disappears into the nearest corner.
Keep going. At the exit from the pocket of public transport, the bus, having entered a puddle, rolls the riders in a muddy wave. It gets even more fun to drive.
After about five hours, having set a record for passing the track, the wanderers get home. The guard in the parking lot, seeing the arrival of the ship, slightly falls from his perch. And then, on top of that, they get caught up by the GAI car. They were curious, you know, where it came from.
Well, they told the Gaians the route, they called back to Zhytomyr (and they also knew about it there), scolded, and let go. What else?
Yeah, that's it. Except for one thing. Fate sometimes gives us signs and labels. There. The driver of that arsehole is holding a garage right now. Miami. And indeed. A person who knows how to at least just move on the Moskvich, with the rest in this life, and especially with the repair of normal equipment, will cope without straining.