Driving to Omsk in the late afternoon was one of my best drives. Top down and warm weather. Finally flat, sealed, steady roads. Felt like I was riding through a painting with intermittent scene changes. Fields of billowing, long hay and farmers harvesting on old tractors. Scores of zigzag, scattered piles of hay sitting in endless fields. Thick Birch forests with the greenest leaves, moving with the wind over needle-thin, white bark trunks.

Long stretches of road where I met no traffic and the road seemed endless. More sunflowers in one field than I’ve ever seen combined in my 30 years. Flocks of birds flying over in a Carolina Blue sky filled with fat, cotton ball clouds. Music created with the wind and engine. Screeeeeeech. Slam on the brakes. Police man, in the middle of nowhere, flagged me down driving 114 km/hr and maximum speed is 110. Give me a break! I’m in the middle of Siberia! I opted to smile, ask if he liked our car and immediately I knew the yellow sensation was the cause of this pullover, not my speed. Officer smiled and sent us on our way.