Thursday 1st September
Leaving Ulgii southeast towards Khovd,
we encountered our first Mongolian toll road. For 50 cents we were treated to a
road with smaller, more frequent potholes that was no better for our
suspension. It was like rotating one of those 4 sided cheese graters from the
cheddar slicing side to the lemon zesting side. The road however did give us
our first glimpse of the picture book scenery that embodies Mongolia’s natural
beauty. Striking ridges, snow topped mountains, sweeping lakes and the odd
distant yurt peppered the otherwise desolate landscape. One single road
unfurled itself into the distance out of sight. The only disturbance great
enough to pierce our tranquil surroundings was the dust trail left behind in
the wake of each rally car. As the cloud of dust descended and settled back on
the ground, no trace of our passing was visible and serenity was restored.
Totally alone in the wilderness, this was the rally!
The further we ventured away from the
border, the more extraordinary the wildlife became. Flocks of sheep and goats evolved
into herds of yaks and then into packs of wild horses. As nomadic dwellers also
became more ever-present it felt like an almost progressive insight into the
hunting culture of indigenous Mongolians. Huge eagles soared high above us
circling imposingly, flexing their majestic feathered torsos. We were lucky
enough to stumble across a large rocky outcrop where a number of eagle nests
were housed. At the foot of the rock the most magnificent sight greeted us – at
least 30 eagles feasting on a dead yak.
Just over the nearby hill we came
across two Mongolian lads who offered us to hold their own hunting eagle.
Naturally we all jumped at the chance. Slipping on the glove one by one, the
bird of prey had astonishing grip strength in its talons. As we each lifted the
spectacular creature high up in the air, we caught sight of its immense
wingspan. Clutching such a revered bird of prey in wild Mongolia and feeling
its vice-like grip around my arm is something I’ll never forget.
Back on the road we encountered
several river crossings prompting a thorough channel cross-section analysis.
Keen to impress with their GCSE Geography field trip skills, measuring sticks
were employed to gauge water depths at various points across the width. In the
end, the human body proved to be the best measuring device. Rich waded into one
of the river crossings using shins, knees, thighs and his pelvis as passable,
you’ll have to send it, the bath tub might make it and definitely end of the
rally measuring guides. Much to everyone’s amusement, Marigold’s low front end
beached on entry to one of the crossings, scooping up a ton of gravel in Simon
Sump. But thankfully the convoy made it across unscathed and we cracked on.
A little further on we came across a
perfectly flat, wide and straight stretch of dusty road. Without saying a word,
all 4 teams lined up next to each other, stepped out of their respective cars
and knew instantly what was about to go down. It was time for a drag race!
Keen to capture this moment from every
angle, 9 separate cameras were trained on the ¼ mile race track including 5
GoPros, 2 conventional cameras, 1 iPhone and 1 drone. The whole event was a
well-drilled exercise. Chequered flags, driver’s briefing meeting, pit lane
interviews and a voluptuous Fast and Furious style race starter chick (Rich)
were all part of the spectacle. Check out the edit on our Facebook page, it’s
rather epic. Thunderbird 4, ridden by Isaac, was a late entry to the race
backing his green electrical power credentials over the dirty petrol guzzling
competitors lined up to his right.
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| Lined up at the start |
Lights out and away they went. The
Agila, driven by Guy, was fastest off the line but he was no match for Marigold
who soon drew level. Matt, driving the Wagon-R, showed early promise until a
gaping pothole obstructed his lane causing him to swerve violently, losing him
precious seconds. Hockey, in the Kenari, had a sluggish start but after
engaging DRS late in the race he reclaimed ground and finished strong.
Marigold, the pre-race favourite, romped home to a comfortable 2 car length
victory, leaving the Agila in 2nd, the Kenari in 3rd and
the Wagon-R in 4th place.
It became clear merely a second into the race
that Thunderbird 4, the mobility scooter, was not destined for glory. But it
was about more than that. Thunderbird 4 epitomised the people’s champion. Like
Eric the Eel in Sydney, a hobbling Derek Redmond at the Barcelona games and the
Jamaican bobsleigh team of 1988, he was determined to finish the race. It was a
powerful symbol of utmost resolve. The sheer fearlessness exhibited by that
battery powered machine set a precedent that one day we will all follow. One
day electrical power will rub shoulders and even surpass oil in a greener, more
sustainable world. That day we learnt a valuable lesson from Thunderbird 4. It’s
a marathon not a sprint. It’s not the mountain in front of you that tires you;
it’s the pebble in your shoe.
Reeling from their earlier loss in the
drag race, Two and a Half Men instigated another bout of car wars but this time
with oranges, bread and anything they could get their hands on. Reciprocating
like we always do in a scenario like this, Team Rub a Dub Dub fired back with
bin bound Big Bons and a cunningly disguised tomato paste oil slick. As Two and
a Half Men lost traction, we seized our time to strike and hurled the contents
of our last remaining tomato paste jar all over the Agila’s bodywork. Marigold
sped off leaving what looked like a gunshot wound splattered all over their
car. With that killer blow the contest was effectively over and we claimed
victory in Car Wars Episode VII: The Sauce Awakens. When we re-convened in the nearest
town, the scornful daggers exchanged between the two teams spoke volumes. We
knew we’d won the battle but the war was far from over. To be continued ….
For
dinner we found a local karaoke hall that doubled up as a restaurant and sat
down for a large pan of sizzling beef each. It was an uneasy experience for Alf
and Caleb as the last time they had eaten surrounded by flashing disco lights
had brought on the rusty rain. Confiding in each other’s strength, they were
re-assured by the absence of a stuffed tiger in the corner like there had been
in Uzbekistan. Just as they’d fully exhaled a sigh of relief they spotted
crates of Tiger beer sat in the corner and jumped in fright. Flashbacks of
darker times immediately flew through their minds kick-starting a PTSD induced
nervous eye twitch. Was it a sign of things to come? ….
Posted by: Rich