Russia’s brilliant new plan, ban petrol sales to minors and road safety will surely sort itself out
The Moscow region finally found a solution that manages two things at once. It looks tough, and it leaves the actual problem comfortably untouched. If minors can no longer buy petrol, then, by the same impeccable logic, the urge to break the law, ride a pit bike and behave like an idiot should simply evaporate.
The idea grew out of grim statistics. Across Russia, crashes and injuries involving pit bikes, which have become increasingly popular, surged last year. Officials in the Moscow region then identified the true strategic enemy behind it all, the fuel nozzle. Not weak enforcement. Not parental responsibility. Not the sales channels that put these pit bikes into young hands in the first place. Fuel itself.
It is a wonderfully elegant idea in the way only bureaucracy can manage. If under 18s cannot buy petrol, the region gets to tick the box that proves something was done. Whether it actually works can be left to the next press release.
A law built on touching faith in teenage obedience
The proposal feels especially convincing because teenagers are, of course, famous for following the law to the letter. If a cashier says no, the young rider will naturally park the pit bike in the garage, pick up the highway code and develop a keen interest in chess.
An adult friend, older brother or obliging neighbour clearly never enters the picture. Nor does a jerry can. Nor fuel bought in advance. Nor the fairly obvious point that bans usually do not eliminate behaviour, they just produce a fresh round of absurd workarounds.
Politically, though, it is an excellent move. It creates the impression of firm intervention without demanding any especially difficult decisions. Regulating pit bike sales would be messier, because that would require someone to admit that the market is full of machines sold as part toy, part sporting equipment and, in practice, a traffic risk. Stronger enforcement would require money, manpower and a functioning system. A ban on fuel sales mainly requires a straight face and a bad law.
The problem is on the road, the answer lands at the pump
What really impresses is the intellectual neatness of the whole thing. The problem exists on roads, in courtyards, on empty lots and in the logic of the market. The solution, however, turns up at the petrol station.
It carries the same energy as treating toothache by banning chewing gum. Formally, action takes place. In reality, the problem simply moves to the next point in the chain, the one the state is not looking at today.
Economically, the ban will first hit the people easiest to reach. Petrol stations get another obligation, check ID. The underage buyer gets one more reason to ask an adult for help. The pit bike seller, after a few weeks, may conclude that selling the machine alone is no longer enough. The full package now also needs a grown up relative as part of the logistics.
And the market will adapt, because the market always adapts faster than lawmakers, who may only just be discovering that, in 2026, some of these vehicles do not even run on petrol.
A comic answer to a serious safety issue
This is where the whole exercise becomes genuinely comic. If the goal is to improve safety, then dangerous behaviour should be restricted, riding locations should be controlled, violations should be punished and sellers should be forced to carry some responsibility. The Moscow region chose instead to wage war on fuel molecules.
The next logical step, presumably, is to ban minors from watching motocross videos on YouTube, in case enthusiasm becomes excessive.
In the end, it feels like a classic bureaucratic performance. Power wants to look stern, the system wants to look busy and the real problem is left waiting until someone is brave enough to put it on the table properly. The ban itself will probably survive several press conferences and at least one riding season before the old truth reappears. Petrol does not ride a pit bike. A person does.
