There were trucks blocking all of the road. Parked on the right, left and in the middle. We had to wait until someone made a whole section of them reverse out of the way so the cars could squeeze through to the front. Once that happened, we got through quick enough and headed for Smolensk, the first major Russian city.

It wasn't terribly late as Smolensk approached so we decided to go a bit further, closer to Moscow. 
Around 10pm we decided to look for a hotel in the little town of Safonovo.

Finding one wasn't really a problem as there was only one. But it was more of a hostel than a hotel, definitely not up to Intourist quality - still it was a place to sleep. Igor left me outside and did all the arranging. When I came up with the bags later I didn't say a word, as an American surely wouldn't be allowed to stay in a real Russian hotel. I don't know what Igor told them about me but luckily, they didn't ask to see my passport.

Food was the next priority. There was none at this place, but they told us of the only restaurant in town and we went there. I stayed in the car while Igor checked it out. I could hear deafening music coming out of the place as if it were inside the car. Igor came out and said they only had food enough for one; they apparently made more money out of selling vodka than food! We decided to go in and split the food until Igor spotted this parked police car, and for some reason went over to ask their advice.

Their advice was to get out of there and go to the truck stop out on the highway. This place was trouble. As it's the only restaurant and entertainment in town, the local bandits make it their hangout. If we went in and stayed, we'd be asking for trouble they told him. So we left. 
The truck stop scene could have easily been stolen from rural highway America in many respects. The stop had about 15 well parked and guarded tractor-trailers parked outside the diner, with the sounds of live entertainment screaming out.

Inside, instead of beer drinking yanks listening to Johnny Cash, we had vodka drinking comrades listening to home grown rock & roll. It was quite well decorated inside, plenty of waitresses too. The menu consisted not of burgers & fries, but of beef stroganoff, cabbage & potatoes. There also seemed to be a great deal of well dressed young women keeping the men company, sitting with them at their tables and dancing. No doubt they were local girls in search of a bit of passing fun.

Next morning we were on our way to Moscow. Near arrow straight roads, though not of the best quality. Rather desolate landscape and dreary little villages were the views of most of the day. We had a few bits of excitement though.

I was stopped by the infamous "Guyee," the highway patrol of Russia, although they don't patrol much. They have permanent checkpoints along most roads about every twenty to thirty miles reminding you that Russian's don't have total freedom. Everyone has to creep along as they go through a checkpoint, and the police will randomly stop cars or trucks and give them the 3rd degree and check their paperwork. We'd been stopped before, but only to check the paperwork. This time I got stopped for speeding.

They wanted to see my driver's license and I gave them my British one - which was a mistake. They were going to fine me for not having a license at first says Igor, as they didn't think the British license was valid. After all how could they tell if it was really me or not? There's no photo on it. I solved the problem, by giving them my old, near expired American license which, like most civilized countries has an ID photo on it. They accepted this, but still gave me a fine for speeding; all of 6 mph over the limit! We hadn't enough Rubles so we paid in Deutsch Marks. They didn't complain.

We came into greater Moscow soon enough. There was no build-up from the flat, desolate landscape, just the traffic getting heavier and the roads wider. 

Igor's apartment was on the north side of town, so we got on the ringroad and sat in traffic jams.

It took over an hour to creep halfway around the ringroad to where we needed to be. While we were sitting there waiting we tuned the car radio to one of the local FM stations and listened, not to Russian propaganda, but to very current Western top 40.