I felt sure that our Intourist hotel breakfast was held in the same room where SALT II treaties were negotiated. Red carpet, a mile long table, hideous light fixtures and surly staff set the mood. Andy's assertion that we were the only guests was disproved when Ivan from the KGB appeared and chowed his meager meal. After Ivan fled, Andy and I sat at the end of the oversized table for the next twenty minutes hoping that Sergei the waiter would reappear and present a second cup of coffee. We determined that Christ was more likely to make a second appearance than Serg and went upstairs to gather our goods and git.
Much to our surprise, Serg did hit the light of day again, but only to gawk at us as we wheeled our beasts down the front steps to go. On the way out of town we were shocked to find workers putting the final touches on the Baltics' best bike path. We fled the not-so-charming town of Siauliai on the smooth tree-lined traffic free road sharing the path with happy bike commuters young and old. Just a few kilometers out of town the road evaporated and we were soon traveling on a narrow highly trafficked road with a soft gravel shoulder.
Each time a big vehicle passed, it kicked up an enormous cloud of smoke that was half exhaust and half dust. The grit, grime and smog grated on my already scratchy throat. We turned off the road after 20 some-odd kilometers to seek a picnic lunch. Finding the first marketlet we stopped and went shopping. Interrupting the babushka coffee hour was apparently a mistake; consequently we were treated to a dour welcome. I surmised that the managers of this store had not been told that the wall had fallen and they were free to carry any goods they wanted to. The products available were limited to things you really didn't want to buy because they were so ugly or useless.
Ice cream was the only luxury item I could see, so I indulged. After we slurped down two Eskimo Pie like substances each, we left the town whose name sounded like \"radioactivity.\" Andy's shortcut out of town entailed traversing yet another loosely graveled road that soon put us back on my favorite smoggy and dusty route. We breezed through another town whose name sounded like \"carcinogen\" before turning off the main route and getting on a slightly smaller one. Andy lost his temper and began to \"flip-off\" rude drivers until I reminded him of my discomfort with this practice. The hot sun and dirty air were wearing me down, so I convinced Andy that we should stop in \"Pour-me-ah-mai-tai\"
(or a town with a like sounding name) for our afternoon meal. At one point I had to stop eating. I couldn't smell my salami sandwich over the peasant standing next to me. We were out of water and simply had to find something before we both expired. At \"Dora's shop-n-snarl\" I received my traditional market welcome while spending most of our remaining agoutis on more ice cream and beverages. The road became less crowded as we passed \"Schmegma\" and the hills became more prominent features of the countryside. At our next (or should I say \"My\") ice cream stop I got another flat and proceeded to change it in front of a fascinated crowd of mini-market customers.
In the defense of Lithuanians, the proprietress of the market was charming, smiley and friendly. In the crowd of onlookers was a 60-something dude who was especially interested in my work. He rambled in Russian to Andy while I made my wheel right. The whole time Andy and I bantered back and forth making assumptions about what our new friend was saying. \"Yeah,\" Andy retorted,\" Fred is slow at changing a tire. Mhhmmm, he does spend too much time checking and rechecking his work.\" \"Yes,\" I said, \"it does get harder to pump at the end,\" as Boris patted the tire.
Finally, he took Andy by the arm, said something incomprehensible and when Andy confessed to not understanding him he stormed off angrily. The next kilometers were along a single lane road that wound through a wide valley. Big green trees framing bright and golden fields of wheat treated our eyes as we rode. Soon I forgot the heavily trafficked roads we traversed earlier. We roller-coasted over the terrain counting the peaceful kilometers to Kaunas. Our heavenly valley presented us with only one problem, its walls were the only geographic barrier to reaching Kaunas. In order to make it to our destination we had to scale 50 meters in less than 500 meters.
At the top the sweat rolling off my body washed away the mosquitoes before they could bite. Within a few moments we had wound our way into town. Perhaps the biggest challenge of the day was before us: finding a hotel room. We'd intended to spend two nights in Kaunas, but were hard-pressed even to find a hotel. Finally we came upon what was the Intourist, only to realize that the clerk spoke no languages in common with us. After about a half-hour of discussions, room viewings and weird sign language I found a room that was later revealed to be available for only one night.
Our receptionist, anxious to be free of us, found us a room a few blocks away and sent us on our merry way. While waiting outside with the bikes Andy's attitude had turned sour. Now bitten from head-to-foot by flying bugs he was anxious to shower and change. I set him down with a beer in the lobby of the next place while negotiations were under way at the next place. I had a few sips too and felt tipsy as we ascended the elevators to our home for the next two nights. Before I knew it we were walking down the charming walking street of Kaunas.
We stopped to munch on the terrace at Astra Restoranas. All of the hipsters of \"Sauna\" were happily sipping beer on the patio in the warm evening air watching the big and golden nearly-full moon rise along the street. Only about half of them were talking on their cell-phones while ignoring their dinner company. While I waited endlessly for my dinner (there was some misunderstanding as to whether I was eating or not?!) a Syrian boy stared and smiled at me paying no attention to his female Lithuanian date. Though Andy pegged him as a \"big-old-hairdresser\" he turned out to be a medical student.
He laughed when we asked him about Kaunas night life. I'd gotten just a little drunk at dinner. Our waiter had made another little (or was it big?) error bringing me another half-liter of beer instead of a little beer. We encountered our first operable cash machine in Lithuania on our way home. I reveled in the successful sound of the machine spitting out cash and printing a receipt, and celebrated by stopping at another mini mart where a happy clerk sold me my 6^th^ ice cream of the day. Back in the room I slept soundly, lulled to sleep by the bassy rhythmic tones of our Russian neighbor's nose snoring the night away.