Saturday 6th August
With Mohammed leading the charge, the convoy moved towards the
border with Turkmenistan but merely 20 km away we encountered another rally
team and were told that it was randomly shut for a few days. Oh good. The
nearest alternative crossing was a 150 km detour away but after Mohammed pulled
some strings we were given the all clear and headed there. On arrival we discovered
it was a truck border that did not cater for cars. This was the first of a
string of problems that led to an excruciatingly long border crossing.
 |
| On the way to the border |
Mohammed, our Iranian translation guru, sourced a shifty looking man
in a chequered shirt to whom we would have to pay $20 for a lot of headless
running around and a few stamps. As it was a truck border, our carnet de
passage needed to be changed – a process that couldn’t be completed until the
following morning. So we paid the money, pitched up and waited naively for a
surely seamless transition to the other side the next day. To cower from the 40°C heat we found a perfectly air conditioned building which
to our astonishment was showing the Olympics on a large widescreen TV. Granted
it was two men pulling at each other’s dressing gowns in the judo but that’s
the romance of the Olympics, any sport is entertaining.
 |
| The dream setup... |
A mini living room was quickly assembled around
the big screen, ice cold drinks were purchased and lounge positions were
adopted in anticipation of an all-nighter of heavenly
wall-to-wall sport. Just as my feet touched the makeshift puffe I had
constructed the dream was callously snatched away from us. As the cleaners
switched off the TV and beckoned us to leave I felt a sense of hatred greater
than for stinging nettles, Donald Trump and loo roll that unravels on the wall
side combined. Instead we were forced to sit outside and fry in the heat. It
would’ve been a total disaster had we not downloaded the first episode of the
Robot Wars reboot a few days earlier.
 |
| ...... but Robot Wars is better anyway, 'let battle commence!' |
So instead we excitedly sat down and
watched Carbide’s 2500 RPM spinning death-disc demolish Terrorhurtz and veteran
Behemoth faster than you can say Sir Killalot. Feeling more manly than ever we
then challenged one of the fellow Aussie rally teams to a kwik cricket ashes
series, but upon witnessing Alfie’s masterclass in reverse swing bowling and
Caleb’s over of medium paced beamers, they politely declined. Caleb’s
overzealous attempts to field the ball however resulted in a gargantuan trouser
rip mid-lunge. With his crotch now on full display and egg on his face, he
retired to the pavilion, whipped out his travel sewing kit and got to work. He
has been brought up well.
Posted by: Rich