August 14th 2006. SCR and Team Tony/Brick awake to discover that the Volvo has been raided overnight. This being a rich Russian tradition, nobody is particularly surprised, and as he re-glazes the broken window with gaffer tape, James wisely decides that the value of the stolen goods does not justify the two-day police station fiasco that would inevitably ensue if the crime were to be reported.
SCR and Team Tony/Brick spend several hours tracking down a brake specialist who fit new pads against the Volvo's scored discs, insisting upon giving the filthy vehicle a wash before allowing it into their workshop.
Navigating back to the hotel, a spiteful pothole finished off one the the Volvo's rear springs, causing the twisted remains to part company with the vehicle, and excellent grinding noises to be generated by the smallest of bumps. Back at base, they lever the offending corner from the ground with some difficulty, concluding that a new spring is the only answer.
Sam leaps into a passing taxi with a cheery retired rock guitarist named Vladimir, and a wild goose chase around the closed garages and auto shops of Barnaul ensues. No springs are tracked down in almost half-an-hour's searching, but the driver's choice of tram rails over road is terrifyingly entertaining. Just as hope is abandoned, Sam spots two grizzly Russian bear-men working on a grubby Lada in a shed. He approaches with some caution, but they turn out to be delightful, and produce two springs near-identical to the car's originals from behind an impressively stained cupboard.
They return to the crooked vehicle and fit one of the new springs with the help of Andrey 'Axegringo' Aksenov, a passing mechanic and godsend. It fits well, but is a little on the floppy side, so Andrey leads them to his garage and helps to bodge a chunky Lada Riva item into place. Before departing, and for reasons best not pursued, Vladimir writes 'I love you' in biro on the side of the Clive Cab.
An escape from Barnaul is eventually made at 23:00 after a false start in an unhelpful direction. They eventually reach Gorno Altaysk in a Pro-Plus frenzy at 3:30, try to find the camp occupied by team Skip Rats, fail at length, and find a hotel bordering a terrifying Soviet playground clearly designed to separate the men from the boys. The surly woman in charge (who matches the hotel's Soviet relic exterior perfectly) refuses to open the gates to the secure car park, they pitch camp in cars outside.
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