The police are everywhere in Russia*. It was at a crossroads outside Nyagen that I first realized we were being watched over like kindergarteners on a field trip. It became more and more apparent the cops were in contact with each other and were handing us off from one station to the next. I think they had two goals: firstly, as ambassadors they wanted make sure we got all the support we needed, and, secondly, do their best to ensure we didn’t kill ourselves and generate a huge amount of complex paperwork. Their attentiveness reached its apex in Bezerovo. There they met and guided us through town, watched our bikes as we checked into a hostel, flirted with Zaya, and then escorted us to their brand new police station so they could lock our bikes up overnight. We couldn’t have been more conspicuous if we’d wanted to be.