This report from Ukraine is by Neale Bayly, a motorcycle reporter and photographer with over 20 years of experience. He also founded a non-profit organization Wellspring International Outreach in 2011 with a mission to “bring aid and care to abandoned and at-risk children around the world.” Bayly recently returned from a three-week, 6,600-kilometer (about 4,100-mile) motorbike trip across Europe and to war-torn Ukraine, which he describes as “a beautiful country with beautiful children.” The people are amazingly resilient against a brutal regime that is intent on destroying them. “
The idea for the trip came a few days after the war in February when my friend, Kiran Ridley, called me from Ukraine. Covering the war from Lviv in western Ukraine, he is using a cheap Chinese motorcycle to navigate the 30-kilometer stream of refugees fleeing Ukraine at the Polish border. His reaching out to people and their stories with the motorcycle was a game changer, but the bike was not running well, and he was dressed inappropriately for the winter weather and a in this highly stressful environment.
When the phone line went down after that first call, my mind reeled. Images of the devastation and devastation the Russians were inflicting on civilians kept me up all night, and after a few more calls, a plan was laid.
Advertisement
Oleg Satanovsky at BMW Motorrad USA had a pair of F 850 GS Adventures lined up in Munich with hard bags and navigation. Matthew Miles provided Rev’It protective clothing, Jeff Weil at Arai submitted helmets, and my longtime sponsors joined in support. With the easy part done, we set out to secure the countless details that remained: through international press, Ukrainian military approval, high-grade plates for bulletproof vests, craftsmen repair, hotel and most importantly decide our story. will follow.
Related story: 2019 BMW F 850 GS and F 750 GS | Road test
Ukraine: ‘Nowhere is safe when the Russians start shelling’
In total, we spent almost three weeks in Ukraine, traveling from Lviv to Kyiv, Bucha, Irpin and Hostomel, the most brutal scenes of the early war. Then we went to the seaport of Odessa. Sometimes we stay out of local hotels for a few days and chase a lot of stories.
We took a tour of a Soviet-era coal mine to learn how the energy front was going 1,500 feet below the surface of the earth, and we spent the day with young soldiers recovering from recent leg amputations at a horse therapy ranch. We also visited a 16th century monastery that housed refugees. Reflecting the monastery’s work 80 years ago during the massacre, their presence was kept secret to avoid the possibility of shelling.
We hitched a ride in a pair of fishermen’s old wooden rowing boats in Vylkove, 25 miles from Snake Island, Ukraine’s 42-acre Black Sea outpost that has captured the world’s attention early in the war when Ukrainian soldiers refused to surrender despite calls from a Russian warship to lay down their weapons.
The two fishermen we met have lost their livelihood, as they can no longer fish in their normal waters.
This is just one example of when we got off the motorbike and went in the car with our “fixer”, Andriy (they were kept and specific locations were not provided for safety and security reasons). security), when the places we visited were “hot” – the local term for the area receiving active missile attacks.
Mykolaiv is probably the most stressed out. While recording an apartment complex where a series of strikes had just taken place, we were stuck in the city when the warning went off before another air strike. All we could do was put on our vests and take shelter at a local park, then make the decision to stay as far away from buildings as possible.
But in reality, nowhere was it safe when the Russians began shelling, a fact that was brought home a few days later when making a story about the winter harvest outside Odessa.
Andriy’s air-warning app is off and we’re aware of a series of major attacks on Vinnytsia, a city that hasn’t been attacked since March and is providing refuge for many Ukrainians. escape from the front line. We had planned a lunch stop on one of the tree-lined historic streets at a nice restaurant earlier in the day, but that changed in an instant.
We cycled to Vinnytsia, deep in thought but not sure what would happen. The smooth two-lane highway cuts through fields of sunflowers, corn, and white clouds floating against a peaceful blue sky. It was the complete opposite of the scene we found in Vinnytsia, indescribable for so many reasons.
Even as firefighters battled the last remaining fires of the buildings, World Central Kitchen was on site to distribute water and meals to those left homeless by the strikes. The cleanup crews worked hard, and all the bodies were removed – just not quite all the parts, which makes me so glad we skipped lunch.
The physical destruction was astounding, its scale beyond comprehension, and the stoic determination of the emergency workers clearing the site was humbling. We saw cars being lifted onto trucks by machines and war crime inspectors documenting them.
Advertisement
News groups broadcast the news that 35 people had died and 65 were seriously injured to an audience tired of fighting and waiting for their next media addiction to pass.
A temporary calm, a smile from a child, and familiar darkness
The following days we experienced a more peaceful region as we went deep into the Carpathian Mountains along the Romanian border. We hooked up with a Ukrainian film crew that wanted to film a few Britons riding a BMW across their country, and they identified an old Soviet radio station on top of the mountain for us to photograph. Long abandoned, it remains a testament to the Soviet occupation that the Ukrainian people endured before independence.
With our group, the two-lane highway smoothly transitioned to patchy runways and eventually dirt. The mountains rose higher, and we rode through scenes that at times rivaled the Alps. Hour after hour as we went back in time, the road deteriorated, and we had to ditch the car and hire a local Mitsubishi with all-wheel drive. We fought on a narrow dirt road, eventually having to park the BMWs and crash into the Mitsubishi, the bicycle tires not allowing any further advance.
Our repairman below found a guesthouse and a home-cooked meal for us to return from a surreal photo shoot at the top of the mountain. Late at night, we broke bread with our friends, dirty and tired but extraordinarily happy.
As we ate, we learned from our producer, Omel, about life under Soviet control, the democracy and freedom they built in Ukraine, and how they fought back against the regime. This massive totalitarianism is destroying them and their way of life.
In addition to the Carpathians, we have one last story waiting at a children’s hospital in Lviv. There, we met an 11-year-old boy named Leo, a refugee from Severodonetsk, where the constant bombardment he endured left him unable to walk. He also recently underwent surgery to remove a tumor in his leg. He and his mother told us their escape story, and we were speechless.
Thanks to all the sponsors, we were able to leave a check for $10,000, and it felt like Leo really enjoyed hanging out with a crew and a few shaggy British journalists. on motorbike.
After the emotional encounter, back at the hospital, the aerial warning was howling across the city in the warm afternoon air as Leo turned around to wave one last goodbye. If the smile on his face is the sun that lights up our day, the thought that after all he’s endured, this 11-year-old could never be safe there, even in the children’s hospital, cast a shadow over my heart that sends me into the darkness that often comes as my mind tries to understand the brutality of this war.
For more information about Wellspring International Outreach or to give, click here.
