There is good news regarding Russia. Humans have started to repopulate the cities after what appears to have been a zombie outbreak or nuclear blast. We aren't sure the zombie pandemic is completely cured so most of us have cleverly disguised ourselves as the walking dead by drinking bottle after bottle of free vodka the night before.

The reason the hotel owner plied his poison upon us is unclear, although Hans, Joey, and Shawn from the Battlers did their best to unearth the secret over a bizarre game of Russian billiards.

I wasn't there having vacated shortly after the second bottle of free vodka arrived at our table in the hotel restaurant.

In other words, I left Hans and my new friends to die by Russian hospitality, rescuing only Roberta.

Most everyone had a real bad night after the festivities. Details aren't required and would make this blog a vile sort of read.

Morning came and between the two teams we only had one person fit to drive. That didn't mean our Aussie friends didn't try to muster. I was all for spending another day and night in Vladikavkaz but this suggestion put tremors into the crew.

We made it about an hour down the road until I was pulled over by a traffic cop in a round-about. He couldn't find anything wrong to get a bribe started so he gave us directions and sent us off.

About a half hour later both teams got pulled over. I was given the all clear once more but only because Shawn had fallen into their corrupt and dirty clutches. They'd detected Vodka stink on him and Russia has a zero tolerance policy. The next hour was started with threats of “arresting the car” (This hardly seems fair because the little vehicle hadn't been drinking), followed by an option of a "$2000 dollar fine”. Shawn eventually got them down to $200 dollars scraped together from both teams. They agreed to let him go under the condition he didn't drive.

This left me and Roberta, hungover but not under the influence, to drive the cars.

I took the Battlers Spanish made Seat (Pronounced say-aught) a low riding silver coupe with rally lights.

The next eleven hours were spent striking out towards Astrakhan near the Russian-Kazak border nervous about further cops and having to spend more time in Russia.

We didn't come close, Russia is fat and corrupt, Jabba the Hutt of countries. Therefore we only made it to a city called Elista, known as the home of the chess Olympiad and nothing else.

Their are two hotels in Elista and we couldn't find one of them. We were left with the Elista Hotel rating: 1 star on Tripadvisor.

What came next was a duel, Joey and I versus an irate Russian woman concierge. I explained to her that we needed two rooms for five people and parking for two cars. “Yes, yes, I understand" she growled, followed by a lot humphing and sighing as she took our passports and filled out forms. We were handed a sheet of paper (With obligatory stamp) to take to an attendant on the fourth floor.

We got the cars parked in a dim lot with a sleepy guard and entered the hotel. We took an elevator to the fourth floor to find out we had been given a single room with two child sized beds.

I returned to the elevator with cash to buy one more room. As the doors opened to the lobby I came face to face with the Russian woman who pointed at me. "Why are you sneaking friends into hotel!? You can't do that, there are harsh punishments for that. It is forbidden."

This angry accusation went on for a good while even as she accepted my money and absently began filling out forms for another room. She handed me the room slip, and demanded “Go get passports from your two new friends”.

She had managed to miss that there were five of us instead of four. I didn't want to have to buy another room at the hotel hell, so I just retrieved Hans' and Roberta's passports for her.

When I got back to the rooms I told my companions, "For God's sake, do not let her find out we have five people."

Before I could open the door to our room Hans warned me, "This is the room from ’1984’”.

Hans was right, I was spending the night in Victory Mansions, home of the ill-fated Winston Smith, with two small beds without sheets pressed into the walls and a small TV, and mustard wallpaper that had died a hundred times over.

The following night was grim. Roberta kept jerking as she was attacked by some beetle. This in turn rattled me awake and I was already in a foul mood. It was well into the morning hours when she finally caught her assailant.

She of course, though miserable and frustrated, carried the little bug to the window and let it escape.

The next day, we limped out of Elista, headed for Kazakhstan. I was nominated to drive once more, and even though I was irate at having to be the designated driver I had a grim, determination to get the hell out of Russia.

Two more cops would wave their batons for me to pull over before I reached Kazakhstan. I didn't blink, didn't slow, and blew by them.

They never followed, just stood standing in my rear view mirror looking at their useless batons as Gobi and the Battlers burned into the distance.