The rest of the day was spent mixing with the bikers who went out of their way to talk to us, examine our bikes, ask about our journey, about England and, more important, what we thought of Russia. The fact that we are father and son travelling together was greatly respected by everyone. As the drink started to flow and their inhibitions towards us and attempting to speak English lessened, grizzled bikers would approached us and shake our hands warmly, sometimes without a word being spoken but their eyes made us welcome; sometimes their comments were translated by those around us whose command of English was a little better. At other times we would communicate with snatches of words and gestures but the gist of the communication was apparent - like when one large, tattooed biker approached us, pointed wordlessly to each of us in turn, indicating father and son, pressed his hand against his heart and then hugged us tightly to his massive chest. When he let us go, there were tears in his eyes.
We met Walter whose nickname we were told is "Killer". Later when he had moved away from the group around us, Malvina (she who lolled against me on the couch at Alexis's flat and spoke of us having a "Russian experience") told us almost sotto voce that he, Walter, is the Black Bears' "killer". We didn't understand and asked her what she meant. Again, seeming to look furtively about to make sure no one was listening, she said quietly that sometimes the bikers come into contact with criminal gangs and need his "assistance". For what, she didn't say and we didn't want to ask. The almost conspiratorial way she told us spoke volumes, though.
And we met Konstantine, whose brother had been murdered in the UK a few years ago. He wanted to say something to us and asked one of the bikers who spoke English to translate: "When I first learned that you were from England," he said to us, "I felt aggressive towards you." The translator explained to us about Konstantine's bother and how he died in the UK. Then he continued, "But now that I know you, I feel differently." He hugged us, pressing us against a tattoo right across his barrel chest saying: "The Great". He pointed to it and said tearfully, "For my brother."