The Islanders - ScillyMission.com (Mongol Rally 2010)

Oct 14 |09:32

You Want Breakfast Now? - The Book

Long overdue, but the book has finally been published.

"Three island boys from the Isles of Scilly take on one of the last great challenges of the world - The Mongol Rally. This is their story, written on the road as it happened; a 10,000 mile journey from the UK to Mongolia without any support team or assistance - all for charity. Through 15 countries, Team Scilly Mission are faced with extraordinary challenges; corrupt police, chased by armed riders, impounded at a border for days, driving through a 46c heatwave, crossing through rivers and overcoming breakdowns hundreds of miles from civilization. This is the story, written on the road as it happened. This challenge was to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust, the 8th consecutive year of fundraising."

The book is available for £8.99 from:

This website (via Paypal) - if you would like a personalised message, or a signed copy, please order it from here

Lulu.com - http://www.lulu.com/shop/james-druce/you-want-breakfast-now-a-mongol-rally-experience/paperback/product-20031681.html

Amazon.co.uk - Available in 6 weeks

frontcover-smaller

Apr 12 |22:02

Read our blogs!

Perhaps worth doing after you've made yourself a very large cup of tea, please do read our blogs. We've documented our journey, through the highs and lows, and the stories are freely available for you to peruse. Feedback would be fantastic - we get thousands of people that visit the site and read blogs, but if you have anything to say about them - perhaps tips about writing styles, or anything we could do on a future trip, please do Contact Us!

Warning: The blogs below add up to about 85,000 words... Make that a VERY large cup of tea!

Apr 12 |21:40

Day 31 - The Final Push

And so we woke. The first thought that came into my head as I lay on the now paper-thin roll mate, was this was it. According to my rough calculations, and a whole lot of hope, this was the last stretch before the finish line. The last push

It seems I wasn't the only one in this frame of mind - the usual morning quietness between the 5 of us, eyes barely registering the now rising sun, was instead transformed into a miniature metropolis of excitement. We all felt it - we were close, so close, to the finish line at Ulaan Baatar. We felt amazing.

Well, I say "we" - perhaps falsely indicated all five of us. Will was a little jaded, having stayed up drinking Kazakh brandy until the early hours. But even he looked angelic compared to the… well, utter mess that was Mackey. Every word he uttered proceeded a toxic cloud of brandy and whisky - and this was at 8am! Still, I think even Mackey felt the disguised anticipation we all shared.

We weren't counting our chickens quite yet - we figured we had around 350 km to go before the finish line - three hundred and fifty kilometres, still crossing very unknown terrain, any meter of which could do untold damage to the cars (or ourselves). Without wood to touch (the desert is a very wood-less place), we knew we still had a challenge ahead. But even with that hint of apprehension - this was going to be the last day.

Breaking the schedule we'd followed since France, it was Mackey who took the morning shift. Perhaps not the best idea considering his hungover state, but the boy was determined. And to see that amount of determination in one man's eyes (even if they looked like the tiny eyes of a shrew), I knew we were in safe hands.

Ems, her ever delightful self at 8am, started the repacking of the camp. Such an event was second nature to us now - despite detesting camping when younger, something I'd have paid anything to not do (and sleep in a nice warm bed), we were all elites. Erecting our tents, repacking them into that small bag that usually perplexes every alpha male, sleeping in the wilderness, feeling almost as one with the desert - we'd done it all. I know I wasn't the only one that felt a tinge of sorrow knowing that this would (possibly) be the last time we'd collectively act like such adventurers.

Once packed up we tended, yet again, to the usual morning procedure - including brushing teeth. That's something I knew I wouldn't really miss, having to brush your teeth using a small amount of water from a bottle; inevitably dribbling some minty fresh foam down your chin or on your flip flops. Give me a tap any day. Even the lack of washing or showering - as dirty as it sounds, we'd had 1 shower since we left our Siberian hotel over a week ago - is something we'd all relish once we're home, but still look back so very fondly at our time in Mongolia.

Tents packed, the two car team ready, we set off with Mackey in the driving seat. We had a rough idea where to go, which direction to head in, despite the obvious lack of tracks - but before long, 5 minutes of driving in a North Eastern direction, we once again found a trail we'd follow for the rest of the day.

The iPod blasted out the usual selection of tunes, ranging from the dulcet sounds of The Verve to the turbulent chords of Poison, when we experienced the first problem of the morning. Percy the Peugeot, which seemed to constantly complain at the world, showed it's frustration by freeing itself of its exhaust! The long arm separated somewhere near the engine block, and transformed itself into a dragging dirt collector, scooping samples from the desert floor.

We all came to a stop in the desert sand, amused by this set back - that Mongolian god we mentioned a few days ago obviously chuckling away to himself on the summit of some Mongolian mountain. Mackey's mechanics quickly spotted that both ends of the exhaust had decided to quit on us so close to the finish line, and were un-fixable. Ed however, refused to leave a team member behind (even if it was the exhaust pipe), and lashed it on to the roof of the car.

Of course, this just mean that both cars sounded like absolute tanks, their 1.1 litre engines disturbing every sparse living creature in a 2 mile radius. Personally, I thought we just sounded awesome.

We carried on, the compass giving us hope we were headed in the right direction, but then we came across something that gave us more hope - a road. An actual, physical, tarmac road. Flat! Yes, it was littered with pot holes the size of washing machines, but this was a road! We HAD to be going towards the finish line!

With a road surface, we did something we hadn't done in a VERY long time - we broke the 40mph limit. Desert driving is a punishing affair - not only on us, but the cars. The rough surfaces and corrugated trails absolutely destroy the suspension of cars designed for leisurely supermarket trips in England. Our average driving speed over the last week would probably work out to be something in the region of 20mph. Reaching 40 felt like we'd broken the sound barrier; us all hanging our heads out of the window, smiling, looking more like a bunch of dogs in the wind.

Of course, it was never going to be that simple. Before the novelty of such ridiculous speeds had worn off, we were greeted by a rather depressing sight - the abrupt end of our precious tarmac, and the reclamation by the parched desert. Were we really going to UB? Had we double backed? Had the Earth's poles somehow shifted while we slept, and instead headed towards the very closed borders of China? Why would the Mongolians go to so much effort to create that little piece of black heaven, only for it to end near some rolling hills?

As we drove on, a little perplexed at it all, we came across a Mongolian biker. Forget the leather jacket and handlebar moustache, this was a traditional Mongolian biker (is there such a thing?), complete with traditional Mongolian attire. We hadn't learned many Mongolian words - "thank you" was about it. But "Ulaan Baatar", with excited smiles that obviously expressed it in the form of a question, was understood by the biker. He pointed along the path we already headed down, and nodded.

So, we were going the right way, still none the wiser about the patch of tarmac however. Still, it wouldn't be long before we'd find the next sporadic patch of tarmac!

The landscape slowly began to transform as we continued along the desert; slowly shaking off the barren title as green began to appear around us. What was once just dust and dirt began to transform into something more resembling country side. Grasses and shrubs reclaimed the desert gradually, and before we knew it, began to win the battle against the infertile dustbowl.

By mid-morning, both roaring cars still ploughing along, we also noticed an ever growing number of gers (the traditional Mongolian tent/house) - some standing solitary amongst the empty lands, but others in collective villages. This was some of the densest population we'd seen in days! Not only that, but we ran into traffic; actual, other-people-driving-along-here traffic.

Perhaps not quite the traffic we'd grown up with - this time, an over-burdened truck headed in a similar direction to us, kicking up plumes of trail dust. Overtaking wasn't an overly hard thing, but was somewhat exciting - overtaking in general suggested traffic, which suggested population, which suggested we were getting closer and closer to the capital city.

As we emerged from the dust thrown into the air by the Soviet monster, we caught sight of road again - this time, almost freshly laid and heading in a very straight line. It couldn't have been more than a month old, the immaculate darkness clearly visible as we approached it from a mile away. Half a mile away, I swear we could smell it. Although it wasn't until we were 5 meters away, and could actually taste it, did we realise we couldn't use it. For this was indeed a tarmac road, and it was indeed perfect in every way. So perfect in fact, that vehicles were not yet allowed to use it! Still "under construction" it seems. SO CLOSE! Yet so far. Still, to witness the extension of a road that must have started in the heart of UB, was still as encouraging as ever.

Next to the perfect road, almost mockingly so, was more of our old friend, the desert track/path/trail. Worn into the surface, almost glad of it's last few days use by the Mongolian traffic, was our ticket to the finish line. We also spotted our first road sign in a very long time - ULAAN BAATAR - 348km. The CB radios crackled with excitement as the two cars both read the sign out in gleeful cheers.

Mackey, still ridiculously hungover but in a very uncharacteristically good mood, relished in this continuing road surface - for every turn and bend around a small corner or detour meant Pete the Saxo slid and bounced like the rally vehicle it never was. As I sat in the front seat, I made the mistake of choosing music which further fuelled Mackey's aggressive (yet rather fun) driving style. The Beasty Boys were played, and Mackey took the driving to a whole other level…

To give him credit, his driving was extremely skilful - we tore along that path (all the while within arm shot of the new road), skipping over pot holes and sliding around rocks. Ed, very plain to see, loved the excuse that he had to keep up with the bat out of hell, and swiftly followed suit.

The time came though, a time which couldn't come too soon, for us to join that tarmac. For us to enter the world of civilised driving, complete with such modern monstrosities as road markings and road signs. For us to enter the driving elite, keep to the right hand side of a dual laned road, for us to abide by the laws of the road. And that moment was welcomed with open arms.

The five of us knew, this time, that the road was here to stay. Perhaps it was counting our chickens before they hatched, but we just knew - all the way to the finish line, we would have our road. I laughed like a child. Mackey followed. Ems (who's swapped with Will for a few hours), joined in. Even more so when the road signs came frequently at us as Mackey accelerated even more - 60mph this time, probably the first time we reached such dizzying speeds in this country. Every 10 minutes or so, as the music once again changed genre completely so Elton joined us, another sign rose up against the highway side. I gazed out at the now green landscape, almost a built up urban area by last night's standards, as Ems dozed in the back of Pete through all of The Greatest Elton John Ever.

By now, it was lunch time - and Mackey was beginning to flag a little, despite running on minimal sleep and the excitement of us all. It gave us a good reason to stop, and eat something. We snacked on what remaining food we had in the cars - some biscuits, old crisps, more of a sustenance stop than anything - a chance to top up our sugar levels so we could remain excited for a couple more hours. Pete was also in need of a top up, and we decided to use the jerry can contents rather than fill up unnecessarily - after all, those jerry cans held precious 95 octane fuel from the depths of Russia!

I took the hot seat, quite possibly for the last time, as we finished our 10 minute break and pushed on. Mackey retreated to the back seat, no more comfortable than the others but still no barrier between him and a needed nap, Will my faithful navigator.

The next few hours driving were uneventful, yet we covered a huge amount of ground. Pete the Saxo, a huge testament to both Citroen and our faithful Tresco mechanic Nick Shiles, continued on without a single complaint. OK, So the gearbox was pretty much knackered - a trivial battle to get it into 5th gear, but there it stayed. The engine, having covered most environments on the planet, never skipped a beat. Even the thought of us having had a total of 3 flat tyres, meaning one had covered a third of the planet without puncturing, was impressive!

We began to realise we had left the flat expanse (albeit greener expanse), and started a very shallow climb into some waiting hills. Gers became a frequent landmark, even making way to fixed buildings. Traffic not only proceeded us, but followed us. Cars and trucks rumbled by on the opposite side of the road. Clusters of buildings soon gave way to villages, complete with shops and services. Where were we?? On the map, we had no real settlements listed, certainly not of this size. As we continued to climb, still on a wide open road, we approached the brim of the hill and finally comprehended where we were.

For as we reached the peak of the hill, the gradient flattening before it's inevitable decline, lay a sprawling city - and for once in this country, a city is what it was.

Will was excitingly cheering down the CB radio. Emma gave us a word perfect air hostess style welcome to our destination, reminding us all to keep our hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times. Even Mackey, but an hour before slave to a hangover, perked up with alarming ferocity. I didn't accept it though - I couldn't believe it. Were we really here? Surely not. Will, check the map again. This must be another city. I even grabbed the CB radio and asked Ed & Ems if they could verify our location.

But there was no mistaking it, as a big ULAAN BAATAR sign came into view.

We had made it.

Never before had I felt such a strong wave of emotion come over me - sweep over us all in fact, as we continued down the hill into the city limits. What seemed like seconds later, we reached the entry to the city, a formidable ULAAN BAATAR sign covering a dual carriageway, a soldier checkpoint waiting to check all vehicles. I think for a second, a worst case scenario popped into my head - what if the soldiers didn't let us in? What if something was wrong with the cars? What if…

No. We'd come to far, been through too much, fought on for far too long to be turned back at the last hurdle. Just before we passed into the final city, we all stopped at the side of the road, and sat in front of our triumphant vehicles with the UB sign backdrop (much to the annoyance of local motorists). But did we care? We did not. As it turns out, we didn't have any problems - 200 Togrogs was the entry fee, and never before have we been happier to spend 11 pence.

Our excitement held as we entered the city, a very strange place even considering our sights so far. The capital city was in the midst of being dragged, almost kicking and screaming, into the international modern world. The air sat heavily with pollution, adverts adorned every rough surface, and vehicles fought for supremacy on the chaotic road system. Despite feeling like we'd finished, we still had the small matter of physically reaching the finishing line!

We were given instructions to the finish line a month ago - as we set off from Goodwood, a distance memory by now, we were handed an information pack containing the magic directions. As fate would have it though, and certainly not due to any real organisation by us all, we dug out the piece of paper in seconds.

As we made our way to the centre of the city, we let ourselves get taken by the torrent of traffic, like a floating leaf down a turbulent stream. The general direction was ours; I let the knowledgable locals lead the way as we followed suit for nearly an hour, before we recognised a landmark described to us. One of the tallest buildings in Mongolia, it also shone like a beacon - for the finish line was 30 seconds away.

As you can imagine, two cars full of ecstatic team members, there were a few heated moments with directions. Calls of "turn left" came seconds too late and we missed our chance (a couple of times in fact). But we pushed on, as we'd done continuously for a month. Eventually, we came to a junction where the finish line was visible. Laying eyes on our goal, the culmination of so much emotion, was nothing short of surreal. This last junction proved to be the last test - we wanted to cut across a dual carriageway, and turn left, then into the car park. According to Mongolian road laws, this junction was a "right only".

For once, we were above the Mongolian road laws. We were above any and all laws.

I waited for a chance, put my foot down and shot across towards our target, Ed following close behind. I like to think that this happened so swiftly and smoothly, that the Mongolians didn't even notice. In reality however, I'm betting they didn't even care.

We indicated, and pulled into a car park, already full with victorious rally cars. The huge stage, shouting it's proud message "YOU'VE FINISHED THE MONGOL RALLY", lay empty and waiting as Pete and Percy pulled up beside each other, and the engines turned off.

30 Days and 17 hours after setting off from Goodwood, UK; over 9,000 miles covered; 15 countries traversed; friendships formed, some of which will never beer broken; thousands of pounds spent, but more importantly many more thousands of pounds raised;

We had successfully completed the Mongol Rally 2010.

I jumped out of the car - Ed & Ems had already done the same. We hugged each other with beaming smiles, our weary selves still not realising that the trial was over. Surreal didn't cover it. After a few minutes of laughing and joking, the 5 of us unashamedly bursting with pride, we wandered past the other cars and found the Rally bar - and outside sitting area, complete with other teams sharing in beers and swapping stories.

As we walked in, we noticed a few faces, but they all looked up and smiled. It sounds cheesy, and probably is. But they'd all been through it; overcome similar problems, been part of similar experiences, conquered the same challenge. They were as weary us as, but just as ecstatic.

We walked past the bar, into a hotel, and made our way underground to the finishing station. It was air-conditioned, over the top so - freezing in fact, but such a welcome change. There we met Rob, the main Adventurists man behind the rally, who shook our hands and welcomed us to the finishing line. It was nice to finally meet the guy, having bombarded him with questions in the preparation stages of the rally. We signed the finishing forms, and were given our finishing certificates - for me anyway, that'll always be one of the most important A4 pieces of paper I'll ever own!

One last thing to do though, before we sat down as the one team we were and ordered a cold beer, was to stake our place on the finishing board. Our final positions: 76 & 77. Out of 350+ teams that started the rally, we couldn't believe how well we'd done. Noticing that there were a large number of vehicles that had to pull out for various reasons (but were still written up on the board), that put our finishing place in the top 60.

Team names, and team motto's written ("You want breakfast NOW?" and "Sounds just like a Golf"), we made our way back up to the bar, ordered 5 large beers, found an empty table, and slumped into the seats.

For me, this was a strange moment. A wave of happiness flowed over the table, all completely in disbelief that we'd completed the Mongol Rally. We'd survived, relatively unscathed, a challenge that was notoriously difficult - a challenge that tragically taken the life of one competitor, and hospitalised countless others. The three of us in our team had left Goodwood without knowing anyone. And here we were, now a team of 5, leaving with numerous friends and experiences of a life time.

On the other hand though, a dawn of realisation swept over me - like a cold fog, the bitter reminder that it was all done. We'd finished. We'd shortly be saying goodbye to those we'd spent the best part of a month living as one big team. We'd no longer wake up with an insurmountable task ahead of us. We'd no longer have to worry whether we had enough water to last us the day, or how many times we'd get arrested. We'd no longer be doing something so few had done before, and pushing ourselves to the limit.

But it was over. It was done. We traded crazy stories around the bar like football stickers ("Our car has bullet holes when a soldier shot at us!" or "We got thrown in jail for a day!" or "We stayed in the Royal Palace!"), every team as joyful and gratified as our own. We ate a great meal, from an actual menu - with both English writing, colour pictures AND available dishes. We drank some more beer, and then some more. Teams retired for the night, soon replaced by others also pulling into the finishing line for the first time.

Before too long though, the day had taken it's toll. No, the month had taken it's toll. We found the name of a hotel, booked rooms, and bid farewell to the remaining parties. As the five of us strolled along the Mongolian city centre, the hustle and bustle of the twilight city all around us, we slowly moved completely oblivious to the outside world. The traffic, the noise, the people; all faded into the background hum as we drifted towards our final beds. Camaraderie almost falls short of what the five of us had - living, eating, sleeping, breathing, drinking, fighting, arguing, laughing, joking, crying, experiencing everything in such a raw way.

Almost on auto-pilot, we all paid for the rooms and walked up the air-conditioned marble staircase. In the corridor dividing our accommodations, we all hugged or shook hands - knowing that, the five of us, collectively, we'd conquered the Mongol Rally.

Apr 10 |16:51

Day 30 - The end is in sight

So, day 30. A month since we started this challenge, a month where we've crossed 15 countries, a month where the small Citroen Saxo has been our home. Waking up in the desert, in our respective tents, had not got any more affluent - those roll mats we'd brought 9,000 miles had been suitably compressed to more resemble a sheet of paper than foam.

Still, it sounds like I'm moaning - if this were a regular camping weekend in the UK, it would be moaning. But here.. waking up a thousand miles away from a border, in one of the least populated places on the planet, completely vulnerable to the elements and surroundings, almost at one with the world.. it all makes it very much bearable.

As always, we woke up at a very respectable time in the morning (the sun rising over the plains and flooding our tents with light does help), and repacked our cars. Ed & Emma shared the collective skill us boys had at repacking - well, they had a little more space and fantastic foresight; they brought such Western wonders as plastic boxes and containers - every piece of camping equipment had it's own special place in their very tidy car!

Once the campsite had been deconstructed (and all rubbish had been packed up - this was an immaculate piece of our planet, albeit a very dusty one. The last thing we wanted to do was leave plastic rubbish lying around), we set off. The excitement between the two cars was clearly apparent - we all chatted wildly on the CB radios about what the day would bring - are we really in reach of Ulaan Baatar, the capital of this magnificent country, and our finish line? Will we see that mythical tarmac ever again? Who knows.. but right now, we had to push on. We were still in the middle of the desert, nothing to be seen in any direction - our trusty keyring compass providing the only fleeting idea where our finishing line might be…

Onwards we went, the night silence of the desert rudely replaced with the vicious growling of two very small cars with very broken exhausts

A flat tired before we reached Bayankhongor, where we got that fixed. We all travelled through the small town until the other side, and found a lovely shallow river running through the place. This seemed like a good place to stop for an early lunch. Ed and Will went in Percy to try and get the tyre fixed, and Mackey, Emma and I made lunch. Ems and I went paddling, which descended into a water fight (using our pots and pans as water flinging weapons). As it turns out, first bath we'd had in a month. Was fantastic feeling, although bloody cold.

Mackey cooked noodles, sat on the shore with an adult look of disapproval at the two of us having fun in the water. After 5 minutes of simmering on our stove, Mackey presented lunch to me - the Russian equivalent of Super Noodles in a polystyrene package, that tasted nothing like the "roast beef" as advertised. I'm betting the polystyrene had more flavour, in fact. Luckily though, those superb Navy Rations (thanks again, anonymous Navy donor!) each had a minuscule bottle of tabasco sauce in. This did flavour them well. Emma, on the other hand, had cous-cous, roasted vegetables and pistachio nuts. Can you really say, that's true adventure food?!

Ed & Will returned as we were finishing lunch, and they too tucked into the flavourless noodles. Once we'd eaten, washed up in the river, and repacked our lunch camp - it was time to push on. We were already on the right side of the small town, and so joined the only road/path leading out of it. Noticeably though, was the presence of several other vehicles. Compared to the vast solitude of the desert for the past few days, this was a comparable metropolis.

Before long, the noodles still warm inside us, we came across an old friend - the river crossing. Those few vehicles around us realised what naive foreigners we were, and they swiftly overtook us and ploughed straight into the water. Successfully, I might add. Filled with confidence, and without the need to get out and spend half an hour discussing crossing strategies, Ed and Mackey took the two driving seats and followed suit. Ed went first, the 206 smashing into the shallow (and very warm) water, reaching the other side without so much as a lift off the accelerator. Mackey, whose driving experience had not let us down so far, was close behind and revved high as Pete the Saxo pushed through the water to the far bank.

Having paid close attention to our own vehicles, I didn't realise until making my way across (by strolling through the knee high water) that the other bank of the river was filled with quite an impressive crowd of locals. Those vehicles that proceeded us were obviously taking bets whether our little European cars would make it, and half a dozen small vans had disembarked their passengers. As both cars made it, a slow ripple of applause went through the crowd (obviously those that had bet on our success!).

And onwards we went, as the hills that seemed to surround every Mongolian town once again gave way to the flat expanse of the desert. We were still on our path, with very little chance of going in the wrong direction (mainly as there were no other options to follow), and we drove blindly in a very rough North-Eastern direction.

Before long, Percy the Peugeot experienced yet another flat tyre. Since we met with Ed & Emma in Kazakhstan, I think they've had 6 or 7 flats. And none before our teaming up. Perhaps Scilly Mission are bad luck… As the tyre was replaced, we reflected on the status of the car - the gearbox was screwed, very stiff and would only really stay in 1st or 4th gears. Trying to get through a particularly difficult bit of terrain, needed low gears for slow moving followed by higher for fast moving (and lots of changing in between), was getting very difficult. Front shock absorbers had also broken, no doubt the pounding they'd received over the last week across the rough desert. Possibly worst of all though, was the dust - very very dusty - everything had a thick layer of desert dust coating everything, including us. That river washing we had a few hours ago? Nothing but a dream now.

With the tyre replaced, Percy's bad luck continued - an hour of driving once again with 4 inflated tyres, a new problem presented itself. Clearly visible from us in Pete trailing shortly behind, was Percy's heat shield - the large sheet of metal underneath the engine block - but this time, one side was dragging along the desert floor. Not so good! Another quick stop, and some of Mackey's mechanics, and we were set to go. Again. For how long this time, no one knew!

Our next target was a small town called Arvayheer, which we knew from previous experience to expect nothing big or fancy. One of the largest "cities" of the region, Altai, had turned out to be nothing more than a large collection of gers and a fuel station. Arvayheer, according the map, was an order of magnitude smaller. As we approached however, we noticed those tell-tale hills filling the horizon, and the land seemed a little more alive - sporadic patches of grasses that provided sustenance to large herds of wild horses, who all looked up in bewilderment as our loud, pokey cars tore by.

As we travelled along the desert path, most of it resembling a WRC course, a little accident occurred. You see, despite good visibility as we drove forward, it can sometimes be very difficult to judge some of the obstacles immediately in front of you. A pot hole, from 100 meters away, might seem to be a small dip in the sand, whereas in fact would happily swallow your car. As Ed took the lead, and made the judgement on a little indentation that was getting ever closer, Percy's front wheels fell sharply and the front of the car took the full force of the impact. Straight away, the occupants of both cars knew this could be particularly bad.

As we all got out, we were relieved to see Ed & Emma were OK. Not an overly bad incident from a passenger point of view, but looked very nasty when thinking of Percy. First impressions were good though - the front bumper didn't look too bad, both front wheels looked remarkably spherical, and no obvious damage could be seen. To see is one thing though - to hear is another. And as we all examined the front of the car, a very loud hissing sound could be heard. This wasn't good.

All eyes went to Mackey (and his mechanics) - could it be a fuel line? Radiator? From the looks of it, the front wheels had jumped up so badly, it had pushed the alternator up and caught a pipe in the spinning belt. It had pierced said pipe, which was hissing ferociously, throwing out it's unknown contents onto the desert floor.

It didn't smell like fuel (which was a good thing), and didn't feel too much like oil - so hopefully wasn't a brake fluid or similar. Possibly radiator? It wasn't as warm as the Russian heatwave that so punished us, but it wasn't cold either - and the cars had been driving non stop for hours. Without a working radiator and cooling system, the Peugeot wouldn't last long.

As crazy luck would have it though, and about bloody time, Arvayheer was in sight - literally a mile away, the cluster of single story gers a welcome site. At this distance, Pete could tow Percy there, and hopefully find a garage (or someone with the tools and mechanical know-how to assist).

This was the second time the tow rope had been used (the first, when we dragged Percy out of the Mongolian river - Pete is proving to be even more of a hero!) and we very slowly headed into the town to seek assistance. Mongolians really are an incredibly friendly race of people, second to none (perhaps maybe Kazakhs) - for as soon as we entered the town/village, the middle obvious from it's one petrol station, we were approached by two Mongolian men, asking what the problem was. They had a quick look, but insisted they knew of a mechanic that could fix it quickly. Perfect!

They jumped in their car, and drove 100 meters down the road and pulled in to a closed.. well, nothing to describe it really other than a field, with high fences along each side. Perhaps back home, that might be something of a cause for concern - entering a secure, private area with (now) 8 or 9 strange men. But in Mongolia, and us as seasoned travellers, we knew they meant well, and we followed them in.

Their workshop wasn't the most equipped in the world - the car ramp, enabling the mechanic, was nothing more than 2 logs. The mechanic himself, was nothing more than a sleeping man in a chair (although did the Asian mechanic tradition of removing his top whilst working under the car. Europe was the last time we'd seen a car mechanic wearing a t-shirt!)

As the Mongolian mechanic and his crew/friends/neighbours began to delve into the bonnet and start to investigate, our two teams held our collective breaths. What would that leak be? Would it be fixable? Would we be safe to continue on our journey, knowing we were SO close to the end?

Luck again - only the air conditioning system! (luxury or what?! Serves Ed & Emma right!). The leak was nothing more than the air conditioning fluid - something that Percy can most definitely do without (and apparently hadn't been used in ages. We don't believe them!).

We set off again through the village, and by this time was late afternoon. Onwards we went - this time, following electricity poles! Each were numbered, something like 1888, 1887, 1886 - huge distances between them, but did this mean we were going in the right direction? Definiteily close? The excitement filled the air once again. Looking at the map, we realised tarmac must be nearby. Ulaan Baatar was the capital, and capital cities generally had a tarmac "red carpet" entering them. How close were we from this precious road surface? An hour? 8 hours? Either way, it was now a case of hours - and not days or weeks.

We drove for a good few hours, excited to see further signs of civilisation, but darkness soon took the day from us as the sun began to set over the distant horizon. We wouldn't be making Ulaan Baatar today, but we were close. So so very close. As we continued as far as we could whilst remaining relatively safe, we began to look for a suitable place to stop up and camp for the night. Overwhelemed with choice (as we were in the vast expanse), we noticed a headlight behind us, and watched as it got closer and closer.

Being a single headlight, us clever folks surmised it was a motorbike, that had caught us up. Not overly strange we thought, so we slowed down a little to let them pass. What was strange however, was they didn't pass. They just stayed behind us, following our tail. Hmmmm. This is strange.

Our two cars talked on the CB Radio - who was this lone rider who was intent on following us? Was this his patch of the desert we were travelling through? Without much of an idea who they were, or what to do, we carried on.. slowly. And, as feared/expected, the rider followed us still. Several times as we tried to make out further detail in the twilight, he came along side us. It was a lone Mongolian man, looking to be in his 50s, with an angry expression and a rifle in his hands.

Yes, he had a rifle. He was a gun wielding motorbike rider, and he was following us. We tried to work out how far we could go on like this, travelling slowly as to avoid any unseen obstacles, but it would only be a matter of time before we had an accident. After all, if Ed can hit a big dip in the road in broad daylight, we were risking it by driving in these almost night like conditions.

Mackey, driving his usual twilight shift, made the decision to stop. Yeah, he had a gun. But there were 5 of us. Potentially armed with spades, jerry cans and packets of Russian noodles. Both cars slowed to a stop, and as expected, the motorbike rider came to a stop. He had his rifle slung over one shoulder - which we allowed to fill us with a small sense of relief - much better over the shoulder than in his hands, the iron sights lined up towards our pretty little heads.

He sat there, looking at us. Perhaps not with the look of evil rage that we imagined, maybe pure curiosity. After all, here was a traditional Mongolian herdsman on an ancient Soviet motorbike. Here we were, 5 European travellers in fancy cars (Only in Mongolia could you consider a Saxo and 206 to be fancy!). We opened the doors, and Mackey approached him 20 meters away from the car. I couldn't hear a lot from the safety of the car interior, but we noticed Mackey pulling out a packet of cigarettes, and offering them to him.

Darkness had fallen, so much so we could only watch as the two silhouettes, Mackey and bikeman, nodded and pulled out cigarettes. A short minute later, although felt much longer when holding your breath, the bikeman restarted the old contraption on which he rode, and sped off into the darkness.

Mackey had done well - "He only wanted a cigarette!". It could have gone so much worse, but this was Mongolia - friendliest people around! We guessed that this was just as good as any to rest up for the night, and so unpacked our tents and set up camp. It's strange, thinking that this could be the last time the tents would ever be used by us. I give you, we weren't there quite yet. But we were so very close.

It was a collective feeling, and so we treated ourself. Potentially the last night camping on our little stove, so out came the luxury rations we'd been saving. Treacle sponge and custard; chocolate cake with chocolate sauce; toffee cake with toffee sauce; all the desserts we wanted. Even the main meal was no longer a random pick (to make it fair between us all), and we delved in to the mess of the roof box and chose our own delights. Ems and I, in our usual role of chef and KP, got to work as the table was set up and tents erected.

We sat around, yet again a hundred miles from anything resembling civilisation, and finally let the excitement get to us. We were so close to the finish line, to the culmination of months of planning, it was electric. If a car went wrong, we could all squeeze in one and make it. If both cars went wrong, we'd have the encouragement to run the rest of the way! Here we were, 1 team of 5 friends, knowing we'd been through more with each other than others we'd known for decades. Tonight, we'd eat well, we'd even crack open the Kazakh brandy we were bought a few weeks ago, and rest our heads on the desert floor for possibly the last ever time…..

(Mackey and Will did spend a few more hours tucked up in Pete the Saxo finishing the bottle of brandy…)