ALEXEY ILDUTOV’S EYES WERE
ALWAYS DRAWN TOWARDS THE SKY.
..........................................
As a child he spent hours watching the
Tupolev airliners that soared above the skies of
Tolyatti, the industrial Russian city he called
home, and passed the time imitating their
distinct whistle and roar. When the planes
weren’t around, he’d watch birds instead.
When he was finally old enough to earn
some pocket money, Ildutov saved up all
his rubles and bought himself a remote-
controlled plane, the kind you had to spend
hours assembling yourself. “From a distance,
it looked like a soaring eagle,” he recalls now.
“Then I would bring it in closer and you
could see it was my plane. I was high on life
when I was flying.”
It could have been the beginning of a
beautiful career. But, Ildutov, now a 31-year-
old engineer, never became the pilot he
longed to be. Growing up, his parents were
less than enthusiastic about him pursuing
what they saw as a dangerous job in the
Russian air force. He could have defied them,
but when he had his eyes tested it became
clear he’d never pass the entrance exam. Still,
his desire to launch never quite dissipated,
and his tinkering only became more serious
as he grew older.
Tolyatti, which lies on the banks of the
Volga River, turned out to be the perfect
environment to nurture Ildutov’s mechanical
fantasies. In 1966, with the help of Italian
car manufacturer Fiat, the city became home
to the Volga Automobile Plant. In next to no
time Tolyatti was the automobile centre of
the Soviet Union. Its population ballooned,
as did its mechanical scrap heaps – goldmines
of disused car parts and electrical gadgets.
By the time he was 18, Ildutov was
experimenting with small rockets he made
from found parts. He embarked on a plan
to launch one, with one of the hamsters his
neighbours bred as its test pilot. His design
included a sophisticated parachute system
that would eject the rodent out of the aircraft
within two-and-a-half seconds. “We even
made a helmet out of a walnut shell,” he says.
But when the neighbour’s wife heard about
the project, she was horrified. “I didn’t see
my neighbour for a while after she found
out.” Looking back, an older, wiser Ildutov
admits the animal probably would not have
survived the ordeal.His hopes of even vicarious flight dashed,
Ildutov’s focus finally shifted to something
more obtainable, if no less crazy. In 2009, he
saw his first ‘unimotorcycle’ – a Frankensteinian
cross between a motorcycle and a sleigh, with
only one wheel. The machines were popular
among some of Tolyatti’s more extreme
motorheads. “I watched as an old man sat down
on something that looked like a sled with a pipe
underneath it,” he remembers. “A kind of smog
erupted from the vehicle. Everyone looked at
the machine terrified, like they were about to
pray. I was enchanted.”The race he was watching was the Snow Dogs
Rally: an annual event that resembles what
the world of Mad Max might look like if it
ever snowed. What separates the 31-metre
rally from others is the provision allowing
cobbled-together deathtraps to compete
alongside professional vehicles. The vast
majority of the vehicles entered are made from
reappropriated mechanical parts, some even
using gardening equipment. The emphasis is
on engineering experimentation rather than
speed. One of the event’s Ten Commandments
stipulates that each vehicle’s power source
must be at least five years old. Commandment
Eight states: “You should consider steering
and brakes optional.” Ildutov had found a
reason to stay on solid ground.>>