Neale’s Journey Through War-Ravaged Ukraine On A BMW--Part Two

A Ukraine Motorcycle Journey Part Two ~~ By Noted Motorcycle Journalist Neale Bayly

Neale Bayly had two goals when he went off to Ukraine to bring attention to what journalists are experiencing in this war-torn country and to give victims of the war in Ukraine the chance to tell their stories. He hoped to somehow ease their burden by providing an opportunity to tell their stories. Neale recently returned from a three-week, 6,600-km (approx. 4,100 miles) motorcycle trip across Europe and into war-torn Ukraine under the constant threat of Russian rockets and bombs. He describes Ukraine as a “beautiful country with incredible people standing resiliently against a brutal regime intent on their destruction.” Neale shares his thoughts and feelings of what he saw while riding his BMW GS motorcycle and how this humanitarian adventure in Ukraine reignited his purpose. "My purpose is very simple," he said. "My goal is to help and bring attention to the underserved. I just want to do more good.” 

It was one of those times where the historic streets, the beautiful weather and stunning architecture had me fooled into thinking I was on tour taking in the sights, sounds and smells of a beautiful new country. The feeling continued out into the countryside as we rolled for Kyiv with fields of grain and sunflowers, small rural villages, ornate churches and cathedrals dotting the landscape. Andriy, our fixer, had the Olesko Castle lined up to visit and photograph and the day was idyllic. We filmed some ride footage, stopped for a sandwich and coffee and occasional photo op and it was as peaceful and as enjoyable as a day in the saddle could be.

In total it’s only around 350 miles, so not a marathon day in saddle, but on two-lane roads and constantly slowing or stopping for military checkpoints it was late afternoon as we hit the outskirts of Kyiv. Where our previous exposure to the war had been from the testimonies of amputees, refugees and air strike warnings, within minutes of our arrival, the sight and smell of blown-up buildings had my head on a swivel. Whole shopping malls, department stores, gas stations and houses were gone, leaving just the charred, twisted remains as grotesque reminders of the death and destruction caused by Russian missiles. Closer into the city there was less damage and, as the sun was setting, we rolled through historic tree-lined avenues to find our funky accommodation; I felt almost as if I were pulling up to my hostel on my old motorcycle in Istanbul 30 years ago.

Setting up camp for a few days in our small, single bedroom apartments, Kiran and I both shared the insane feelings of catching ourselves enjoying the ride and forgetting the war for a while. Any feelings of guilt were soon washed away by the haunting, and now familiar, sound of the sirens howling out into the night, as we sat discussing our day and the shared strange intimacy created by our knowing that these could be our last moments.

Morning saw us rested, drinking coffee in a little shop along from our flats and Andriy bouncing in to give us our daily ration of shit for being old, ugly and English. Riding past the destroyed infrastructure, as life continued, was a mental dichotomy that is still hard to process. My other experiences of war had not revealed so much physical destruction and my mind was still trying to figure it out as Kiran motioned to pull over. He had found some ladies selling flowers beside the road and wanted to make some images.

Traveling with an award-winning photographer, I had the pleasure, and privilege, of watching him work at very close quarters. And, while I sort of add “photographer” to my title, in this sort of company I really should remove it. During my career the photographs I have brought back are just recording what’s there. Kiran’s are different, as he has a distinct idea of what he wants to achieve with his images and goes after it. It’s fascinating to watch his process, his patience and how long he works a subject, just shooting away to get the perfect moment he is looking for.

Andriy is brilliant. He has such fantastic instincts and intuitions, and somehow before we know it he has plucked an 82-year-old lady from her flower booth and we are touring her home. She was one of the first to be hit with Russian missiles and Lady Luck was with her and her husband when the bomb landed in their yard: it bounced off a car and into their outside kitchen and bathroom destroying both. If it had landed on the driveway the explosion would have killed her and her husband as they slept. Walking through her neighborhood in the tank tracks, and looking at the partially destroyed houses, Kiran and I kept coming back to how random it always was. How one house was destroyed, and another was untouched.

Closer to Bucha we stopped to look at a line of tanks and military vehicles that had been blown up in place by the Ukrainians. Lady Luck jumped in and Roman, a refugee from Irpin on a small Chinese motorcycle, was soon escorting us across Bucha with his friend on board a BMW F 800 GS. They were friends with the gentleman who runs the Motocross track and wanted us to meet him. The track had been hit by dozens of missiles and the devastation was heartbreaking, but the spirit of the Ukrainian’s was here also on display—they had already filled in 47 bomb craters on the track and had cleared multiple tons of debris.

We spent a few days in and out of the area before making a walking tour of Kyiv. What an incredible city, crammed full of amazing architecture, peaceful streets and avenues with sidewalk cafes, historic churches, and cathedrals at every turn. My favorite was St. Sophia, founded in 1037 with monastic buildings, a gilt cupola, necropolis, and museum. Outside the gates was a chilling exhibition of destroyed Russian military equipment, which really just shows the Ukrainian spirit of poking up a middle finger to Russia. On a beautiful sunny day, tourists photographed and climbed on destroyed tanks and missile launchers as if it were just a normal thing to do in a city center. I had one of my now regular gut punches when Andriy translated the hand drawn signs taped to a shot-up and destroyed compact car: “Children.”

It’s impossible to put these feelings into words, as you try to imagine Russian soldiers taking aim and deliberately shooting and killing little children fleeing the bombs and missiles. My thoughts were going to take me to some very dark places had Andriy not snapped me back with his usual “come on you old Dick, let’s go find Kiran.” Thankfully he was finished taking pictures and we went for lunch, and the bizarre sensation of sitting in an English style pub, watching Formula One racing and listening to country music while eating borscht helped us achieve some sort of emotional balance: A balance that prepared me for the next waypoint in our journey—Odessa. More to come...

Born in England, and raised in South Devon, England, Neale Bayly has been a moto-journalist photographer for more than 20 years. During that time he’s contributed to more than 100 publications around the world. Neale founded Wellspring International Outreach, a non-profit organization, to focus on coming to the aid of orphans around the world. In order to help raise awareness for Wellspring’s work, Neale also created a TV series on YouTube called Neale Bayly Rides. 

Credit: Photos by Neale Bayly and Kiran Ridley

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