Sunday 4th September
The washboard roads of the remote Mongolian
steppe continued into Day 49 with ruthless persistence. It was like a session
of legs, bums and tums with Josie Jump. No need for the bacon slicer when we
get home, the vibrations shook all cellulite from our muffin-top love handles. At
lunch we stopped at a picturesque spot in the middle of nowhere and enjoyed the
predictable pasta, salami and tomato sauce meal. Shortly after gobbling down
our favourite dish ever, the familiar hum of battered up small engine tin cans
greeted our ears. Over the brow of the hill thundered 3 more rally teams, 33%
of which still had bumpers intact. After a brief exchange of niceties and an
interview for the official Mongol Rally press, they continued on their way.
Eyeing up the relatively sandy track
conditions for some potential sand boarding, the readily constructed towing
rope was unfurled and Rich took up his position. With Alf in the bathtub and
Caleb on the gears we attempted the board slide. Was Rich’s dream of gliding
through Mongolia on a truck-less skateboard about to come true? No, no it
wasn’t.
The ground turned out to have more friction than Nigel Farage in a Polish barbers. It was like trying to knee slide in marmite. Feeling slightly deflated, we packed up the board and hoped for more sandy conditions further on. However, just before leaving the lunch stop Marigold was eager to join in the frivolous fun. Whilst all three of us were bonnet surfing on the exterior of the car, Marigold, who was tugging at the leash, suddenly burst into life and drove across the steppe land all by herself. With that level of telepathy we knew that from here on Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub was one immovable entity.
The ground turned out to have more friction than Nigel Farage in a Polish barbers. It was like trying to knee slide in marmite. Feeling slightly deflated, we packed up the board and hoped for more sandy conditions further on. However, just before leaving the lunch stop Marigold was eager to join in the frivolous fun. Whilst all three of us were bonnet surfing on the exterior of the car, Marigold, who was tugging at the leash, suddenly burst into life and drove across the steppe land all by herself. With that level of telepathy we knew that from here on Team Rub-a-Dub-Dub was one immovable entity.
We had our very own queen but it was
now time for an eligible king to sit beside her on the throne. As the flag of
St. George was ceremonially raised to full mast, Bathtub Bilbo was unpacked to
make way for Marigold’s first king, Alexander, to ride in the royal chariot.
Choruses of Jerusalem and Land of Hope and Glory rang out across the steppe as King
Alexander acknowledged the baying masses of sheep and horses beneath him. Marigold’s
other entitled bachelors, Richard and Caleb, also took it in turns to ride in
the royal carriage vying for her approval. In the end, Marigold couldn’t decide
who was the fairest of them all and we returned to her side. By this point we
were miles behind the rest of the convoy thanks to our exuberant antics so we
endeavoured to catch up.
By
early evening we had steered through miles of rippling dirt tracks to the large
town of Bayakhongor. Once there we fuelled up, bought water and headed off to a
secluded camping spot just outside the town.
Posted by: Rich