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Day 27 - We should have brought a boat

We drifted off to sleep the night before quite easily, as every night, as our bodies became impressively adjusted to Mongol Rally life. Despite our beds being nothing more than 1cm of foam to protect against the jagged, rock strewn floor on which we slept, the night soon brought sleep to us all. (Ed & Emma really did live in comparative luxury, or did. They had the foresight to bring a double airbed, offering ample comfort against any terrain the world would throw at them. And I say "did" - after nearly a month of sleeping in the great outdoors, their precious airbed had developed a puncture!)

Any storms aside, we'd quite happily sleep through until daylight penetrated our tents and stirred us from our rest. Not tonight though, as we were rudely awakened at 2am by some headlights fast approaching our makeshift settlement. It woke me up with a start, not being able to see anything from within the tent other than 2 glaring lights getting closer and closer..

A very unsettling thing, seeing fast approaching lights through the translucent tent walls accompanied by the sound of a struggling family car as it climbed towards our camp. We had our tents behind our vehicles, and the approaching car would have nothing to stop it ploughing into us before reaching the mechanical obstacles that were Pete and Percy. As we lay there, our minds were suggesting the car was much closer than it actually way, and I quickly tried to imagine the damage caused if this approaching vehicle didn't stop in time and ploughed straight into our waiting heads.

Perhaps it was the fact we'd just been awoken with a start, but I think I did panic at one point, before relief was granted as the car pulled to a stop close enough to Camp Scilly Mongrels. We were too tired to venture out and see which car had joined our camp, and couldn't stay awake to listen to their own tent erecting, and once again drifted off...

The weather picked up whilst we slept, a hard wind and rain buffetting our camp sight but not bothering us too much. After all, it's been nearly a month of roughing it in the great outdoors (with the odd questionable hotel here and there) - I'd pretty much forgotten the luxury of having 4 walls and a roof over my head, and accepted the bad weather like a seasoned traveller.

The sun slowly rose over the Mongolian steppe as early as ever, and Ed was once again up before anyone else. Our two teams had become one incredibly smoothly over the past week, unwritten rules becoming part of our daily life. The first up would wake the others, and especially this far into the journey, we were aiming to set off as early as possible each day. It was about 6.30am as we began to rise - first hearing Ed & Emma chatting not too far away, as I stretched (as was possible in the 2 man tents and not the coffins) and sat up, ready for the day.

Not the most welcome start to the day however, was the sight of Mackey smoking. In his sleeping bag. Inside the tent. The shared tent that housed the both of us. The boy has issues! Shouting at him to get outside, physically kicking him out much to the amusement of the others, was certainly a good way to get out of the warm comfort of my sleeping bag!

We emerged into the cold, fresh morning to inspect any damage the strong winds might have inflicted upon our little village - and straight away realised the car that joined us in the middle of the night had attempted to set up camp in the midst of the storm; for one of their tents (by the looks of it, erected but then abandoned in preference for the safety of their car) had implanted itself into the side of our tent. Probably a good thing we were there, as no pegs or ropes held their tent down, instead finding safety by resting up against ours! Without us, no doubt their tent would be half way to the finish lines by now...

No signs of movement from the guest car, the team name of which escapes me, as we went about the regular dismantling and
packing of our campsite. We jumped in the cars and began our second day of driving through the Mongolian wilderness. The fresh sun was rising above the distant hills, casting their slow moving shadows across the plains as we continued our journey along worn paths carved into the grassland.

Mongolia is quite a cold place, or certainly at 7am. Hoodies and jackets were a must, as the cars slowly warmed enough to use the heaters to thaw us out a little. Within half an hour of driving though, the morning serenity punctuated by our morning chatter across the CV radios, we came across our first obstacle of the day - a river.

Our first river crossing of the entire trip however! We had originally planned to travel the northern route through Mongolia, but had been sensibly warned away from the idea by some kind locals due to huge amounts of flooding across roads. Rivers would form from no where, fed from melting snow and ice in the mountains, and cut through the already primitive road system. Despite taking the comparatively safer Southern route, it seems those darned mountains refused to keep their fluid run offs to just one area of the enormous country.

Luckily for us, it wasn't overly deep - perhaps 8 foot wide, but only a foot or so deep. Bowing down to Mackey's immensely more impressive resume of driving experience, Will & I stepped out of the car to let him drive. This gave us a chance to take some photos and video our "first time" at crossing the river, and watched as Mackey did true to his word and succesfully traversed the freezing water.

Ed, captaining Percy the 206, followed soon after and again managed to get across the torrent of raging water (actually, more babbling brook than a tempest of disaster). Onwards we pushed, continuing along through the wilderness, hoping we were going in the right direction with nothing to follow other than a dirt path. Before long however, we came to another river. This time though, it was bigger - twice as wide, deeper, and without the gentle incline of the earth to let us down. Instead, we had a 2 foot drop from a bank into the water..

The two teams realised this would be harder than the last, and we parked up on the bank and began to inspect our options. The river looked shallowest where we were, but that large drop from the bank would no doubt plough our front ends into the water, and leave us a little bit stuck. A couple of minutes walk down each side of our location gave way to no other alternatives - either the river was deeper, much deeper, or the steep bank that slowed our progress only got bigger. We had one option - to go where we had parked.

A previous vehicle, be it a rally car or local, had used a 2x4 plank of wood it seems - the wood still remaining embedded into the bank and the other end in the river. A crude ramp, 4 inches wide, and probably doable. If we had a second - for all that remained was the right hand wheel's ticket to freedom. The left hand wheel would still have to negotiate the steep drop into the river. With no other choices however, this was to be our way across.

Once again, veteran Mackey volunteered to make the crossing. We all jumped over to the opposite bank (thankfully using some discarded tires in the river - it was 8am, the river was fed from frigid mountain meltwater, and none of us particularly wanted to get hypothermia this far away from civilization!) and took our places. Will would guide Mackey to ensure one half of the car remained on the singular plank of wood, Emma took some dramatic photos and I filmed the action. Slowly but surely, Mackey inched his way towards the wood and began his descent into the water...

With lots of shouts of "left", "right", "straight", Pete the Saxo decended well - one half remaining on the wood as the other dipped rather worryingly. As the front bumper entered the water, realising that the car was partially down, Mackey took the decision to hit the accelerator hard - the 1.2 litres of pure grunt roared into action, and with an almightly splash, Pete the Saxo through it's entire self into the water and powered through, stopping for no man and succesfully climbing out the other side.

This was tense. This was worrying. This was all part of the rally..

Ed followed suit, keeping an eye on Mackey's path and planning to follow it to the relative safety of the opposite side. Percy the 206 was lined up, again one half using the risky luxury of the plank of wood to descend, with Will directing which way to turn. Inch by inch, Ed set off as the front wheel touched the plank of wood, the rest of our collective team watched with anticipation..

Downwards the car went the tire wider than the plank by several inches but hanging on as Ed made the half way mark, the silence hanging in the air only broken by the roar of the 206 (what with it's broken exhaust) and the bubbling of the fast flowing water. Slowly but surely, the tire continued down it's straight path as the front bumper too hit the water.

And then, it all went wrong. The wood, having been soaked by the river and incredibly slippy, had decided to lose it's hold of the tire and pushed Percy off. Rather than just have the car slide down into the water however, Percy jumped forward and came to rest on top of the plank - wheels spinning in the air, completely stuck on the wood. This wasn't good..

A silent collection of profanities was shared by us all - the front of the car dipped into the water, the radiator fan churning up the river and dispensing it through the front grill. Percy had it's own water fall, looking much more critical than we assumed it actually was. Straight away, Mackey & Will jumped into action - off came the shoes and socks, and they waded into the frigid water to assist Ed. Of course, someone had to film the drama, so unfortunately I remained dry and relatively warm on the opposite bank.

No amount of pushing or pulling the car provided any movement - Percy was stuck. Out came a spade, a staple tool in the rally (for the spade allowed us to dig holes for fires and the call's of nature) and we began the arduous yet essential task of trying to dig the embedded wood from the bank. Luckily though, the ground was soft (as apparent from the deep channel the water had carved in no doubt a short amount of time), and Ed made quick work of digging around the plank of wood.

As the wood began to loosen up, Mackey pulled off a superhero-esque move and grabbed Percy by his wheel arch, lifting with all his might. In truly spectacular fashion, this lifted enough pressure from the wood for Ed to kick it away, and once again leave the 206 free from obstruction. There was, of course, the fact that the car was currently at a 45 degree angle with the front bumper implanted in the river, but a few seconds of screeching revs and Peugeot power pushed the rest of the car through the river, and out the other side. Percy was out!

Well, almost. Despite all the previous excitement, eventually getting in the water and traversing the river, Ed didn't quite have enough power to climb up the opposite bank to freedom - the wheels spinning without hope on the wet surface. In such an emergency, who you gonna call? Why, Pete the Saxo of course! Having already made it to the opposite side, we unraveled our tow rope for the first time (not bad considering we were already in our destination country!). As Mackey and Will were experiencing a little touch of hypothermia after their little paddling session in the freezing river, and had lost all use of their limbs, it was up to me to tow our comrade car out of the river and up to safety.

Which, I'm sure, would be no problem for a veteran driver. Actually, I'd go as far to class us all as veteran drivers after the thousands of miles we'd already driven through some crazy conditions. But towing a car? Something I'd never done. Ah well, in for a penny..

We connected the two cars, and I inched Pete the Saxo forward with trepidation, the thought of burning out the clutch whilst thousands of miles away from a replacement weighing heavily over me. We won't go into detail with how many times I stalled (although I'm sure Emma would love me to divulge this embarrassing part of my life), but it's safe to say that we enventually did get Percy the 206 out of the river, up the bank and to safer ground!

And so began some truly authentic Rally driving. It was still early in the day, the sun still gaining strength and so still requiring more than one layer of clothing. Our first river crossing was an eventual success, the novelty of it still there. Within 10 minutes however, still jubilant that we'd crossed such an enormous raging torrent of water and disaster (that's how we'll tell it to everyone), we came across the second river crossing of the day. Luckily though, this one had kind and gentle inclines going into the relatively shallow water, and we pushed on through like professionals. 

As we continued along the Mongolian steppe, the landscape changing every few hours from utter wilderness to rocky mountain paths, we continually bumped into a couple of teams (including some Nissan Micras - these things are unstoppable, the Compact Pussycat girls and the lone rallyer in the Polo). This other convoy had a habit of driving a lot faster than us (a LOT faster than us), but having to stop on a regular basis to fix their wheels and cars. The result was a yo-yo effect we'd have with them - one hour they'd fly past us, a profusion of car horns as they left us in a cloud of desert dust, and the following hour we'd see them all along the side of the road, car jack in hand and usually a hammer, still waving as we overtook and passed them. A true example of The Tortoise and the Hare!

We pushed onwards, not a clue where we were but a destination in mind, the only help we had was from a small keyring compass and by following the ever changing paths carved into the desert. The plan was just, in theory. However, you'd never come across a simple path linking A to B. Well, I'm sure there must have been at one point, but as a path became too worn, exposing rocks or just delving too deep into the desert, a new one would be started. As this one became a little bit too well used, a new one would be born. And so on, and so on. A few decades of us, and what you're left with is a definitive maze of paths that snake around eachother - turning the wilderness of the steppe into the craziest 10 lane motorway you've ever seen. (Not that 10 lanes are needed; you'd probably see one vehicle an hour as you drove along them). 

It became an art to navigate these paths, trying to work out which was the "freshest", the one that would cause least damage to the car. The oldest would no doubt have churned up jagged rocks or deep trenches, just dying to wreak carnage on the underside of the car (although as we'd proven over and over again, Nick Shiles does make the best sump guards known to man).

As we pushed forwards, we spotted a beautiful sign – a few hundred meters of tarmac entering the city of Khovd, a red carpet for us to drive down as it gave us the chance to stock up on supplies and hopefully find the fabled Mongol Rally Camp. This camp had been advertised at the start line at Goodwood, so many weeks ago, and had promised us such luxuries as hot food and showers. Of course, back then, as we sat on the start line surrounded by UK facilities, we never imagined we’d get so excited about the thought of food and water. As we approached Khovd however, and straight away saw the billowing flags alongside a collection of gers, we knew we’d reached the camp. 

Although consisting of not much else other than some gers, a few toilets, a makeshift shower and some picnic benches, it was fantastic. Every other rally team would drive through Khovd, thanks to the Northern route though Mongolia now pretty much underwater, and every team stopped to recharge for a few hours.

The hosts were fantastic, and spoke better English than us. They offered us hot food, a tasty noodle dish, and we spent a few hours sat in homely ger surrounded by fellow rallyers. Not sat in the cars, not on the move, not being beaten constantly by the rough Mongolian landscape – just sat, chatting, eating and relaxing. It was heaven.

The shower facilities however, left a little to be desired. When they worked, they actually were pretty impressive. An corrugated metal shower cubicle in a field, a power shower (!) fed by an electric petrol generator and a bowser full of water. When the generator worked, and there was water to be used, they did live up to their promise. But… there was only one, and a congregation of 30 rallyers had formed by lunch time! The first few who took advantage of these showers did receive the experience as promised. The rest of us however, had to make do with a literal trickle of cold water. When the bowser ran out of fluid, they did well by improvising – collecting water from a recently dug well, and filtering using some old tights.

Still, we all managed to wash, ridding ourselves from the desert dust and wear some fresh clothes (even if we’d stay that clean for seconds once we got back on the road). It. Felt. Amazing.

It also gave us the chance for the biggest car sort out we’d had to date – absolutely everything came out of the cars, each covered in a thick layer of dust, and we filled bin bags of rubbish and junk we’d not be using again. Mackey once again got called on for some makeshift repairs on Percy the 206, the exhaust again experiencing another bodge job in keeping it attached to the car.

We spent a good couple of hours here, and it was just the refreshing pick up we needed. The cars were more organized, we were much cleaner, well fed and ready to push on. We waited around for the other half of our convoy that we managed to lose the day before, and it wasn’t until we pulled out of the rally camp and into the main road through the city when we spotted them approaching along that short piece of tarmac.

It was very good to see them – the Two Mongoleers, The Desert Beagles and This Is Our Everest, and we chatted about the last few days. Whilst talking however, they were eyeing up the showers and hot food just behind us, obviously desperate to experience the same highs are we just did. Unfortunately though, we’d made the decision to push onwards, and leave the others for a night of camping. We all agreed we’d like nothing more than to reform the most excellent convoy that pushed through Kazakhstan, Siberia and the beginnings of Mongolia, and shared the trials of that impound; but, we were approaching our time limit and couldn’t afford to waste any more time. Having been stuck in the Ukraine for 3 days, and the Mongolian border wasting another 3 days, meant we were very behind on our schedule.

We said our goodbyes, and pushed forward, knowing we probably wouldn’t bump into our friends until the finish line. We drove the couple of minutes through the “city” (or in UK scale, the “village”) and the precious flat surface was soon replaced by the desert path once more.

The afternoon was filled with the “washboard effect” – the worn desert paths giving way to a washboard surface, which shook the car to pieces. Literally, things started falling off, crossing them at 20mph just exaggerated the bumps and the car would soon have to be stopped. Eventually though, we found the only way to cross this weird terrain was to travel at MORE than 20mph – 30mph seemed ideal, the fastest we’d travelled in a week, and kept the tyres bouncing over the top of the ridges rather than finding time to implant themselves into the mini troughs.

This was how we spent the entire afternoon – pushing forward in roughly the right direction, absolutely no way to tell our position other than a keyring compass and a lot of silent praying. The two cars swapped their occupants, us all taking turns between Percy and Pete. Believe it or not, but the daily swap was an exciting part of our trip, breaking up the usual monotony of identical companionship as we drove on.

Before we knew it, the sun once again began to set behind the rolling mountains adjoining our flat steppe, the afternoon having disappeared to time. It’s a funny thing, driving. A short few hours drive can seem like a lifetime back in the UK (where a 2 hour drive might seem like a distant voyage), but on the rally, time has no meaning. Well, it has a meaning, but it has no reference point – we have no appointments we must remember, we have no start time to our day, we have no finish time. We just.. drive. Even boredom has lost its place in the car, its trivial nature of no use when you’re an entire world away from normality.

As Mongolia is a little too risky to drive in the dark, what with the spontaneous river systems that sprout up every now and then, we all began to look for a camp. Whereas but a week ago, where we’d all spend upto a few hours looking for an ideal camp site (away from the main road, behind the cover of some useful trees, ideally away from popular roads etc), our requirements were somewhat simplified in the magnificent country that is Mongolia. For as long as we were out of the way of the beaten path (the literal path), then that would be our home for the night. There were no trees to sleep behind, there were no built up areas to avoid – as far as the eye could see, that was our option. We took a turn off the long, straight path and headed a quarter mile towards some rolling hills nearby. The ground was hard, flat but covered in rocks absolutely everywhere. No matter where we chose to sleep, or even how we slept, we wouldn’t be having a comfortable night’s sleep (our half inch roll mats unfortunately hadn’t grown magically whilst in the boot of the car, and Ed & Emma still had a puncture in their luxurious air bed).

Still, we were adventurers, and we pulled up together and began the regular activity of setting up camp. Step one, turn off the car and get out. And, step one is as far as we got. The second we pulled up and the doors were opened, swarmed the most unnatural cloud of mosquitoes the world has ever seen. The moon like landscape, barren and arid, seemed to also be the perfect place for mosquitoes to hang out. Words cannot describe the little bastards. Every mosquito, usually enjoying the summer in the UK and Europe, obviously decided to do without their annual vacation this year and all stay at home on the Mongolian moon. And, by the looks of it all, we were the only dinner options in many miles.

We were all out of the car for about 10 seconds before we realised what was happening. In the chaos that followed, I think Mackey actually began to drive away whilst leaving his team behind. Two small European cars ploughing down a slope at dusk, chased by desperate team mates, followed shortly by a cloud of blood hungry bugs following the lights and smell. It was as if God sent down a plague for some evil sins we’d all carried out. (Probably Mackey).

After that little lesson, we perhaps learnt that the land wasn’t ours to inhabit, albeit for just one night. Maybe we’d have to look a little more in depth to find our promised land, and that we did. The sun had set, and the sky was already passing from pastels to deep blues and purples. Light was fading fast, along with any hope we had of finding the perfect camp site. Actually, scrap that, any sort of camp site that wouldn’t eat us.

We pushed on for 15 minutes, as day turned into night, and soon it was time to stop. As it turns out, pushing on for that quarter of an hour was the best decision we could of made. Instead of a slope of a mountain, the surface covered with stones and rocks and home to 90% of the world’s mosquitoes, we found an indubitable Eden.

The floor was soft sand, no trouble for the cars but heaven for our weary backs; low sand dunes and grass provided us with our own little private room amongst the thousands of square miles that surrounded us. Best of all, of course, were the very sparse population of local, blood sucking insects. A few, of course, but nothing like God’s plague that bothered us earlier.

With our new home sorted, our entire team happy (Pete & Percy included), we set about our usual chain of affairs – team Supermarket Sweep would get about making dinner for the 5 valiant ralliers, Mackey and Will would set up camp, and before long we had a superb armed forced ration pack for dinner. Once again, a huge thanks to our anonymous donor for these – they have kept us alive!

Whilst setting up the stove, I thought I heard a noise. An animal noise. But then again, we were in the middle of a pitch black desert and no doubt the scarce plant life would hold a number of insects and small animals. But, being such a veteran camper, I thought nothing more of it, and carried on setting up.

Looking up from the camp stove however, I came face to face with a horse. Now that did make me jump a bit, the little ninja horse inching its way closer to me without anyone noticing. Only when I regained my composure, and reeled in my expletives, I realised the horse was not alone. Sat on it’s back was a small Mongol boy, no older than 9 or 10, but in awe at the strange cars that sat near his camp. Luckily he had no idea what I was saying during my little outburst.

Before long, the boy was joined by 2 others – brothers, friends, who knows. But the three of them were very friendly, watching in amazement at the stove, and our boil in the bag meals. We tried to communicate the best we could, sharing absolutely no words between us, but mutual understanding based on nods and laughs. They did get very excited when we offered them a bit of some Mongol brand coke, each taking a sip and offering it back. We let them keep it, much to their enjoyment (both for the coke contents, and the plastic bottle they’d keep. What a very different world.) They were very polite, very inquisitive, but I have no idea how we looked to them. These boys lived in near by Gers, fantastically efficient mobile homes/tents without water or electricity. They rode horses from an early age, lived completely off the land, learnt from their elders; to see our cars turn up, with our iPods and our laptops, our boil in the bag food and pop up tents, and Mackey. All very bewildering no doubt, but awe inspiring for the both of us as well.

Once we’d eaten, and a good 5 minutes of the universal “sleep” sign before the lads got the hint and trotted off on their horses. Well fed after a lucky dip boil in the bag meal, comfortable with the sand underneath our sleeping bags, and still over the moon we were somewhere in Mongolia, it wasn’t too long before we all drifted off, yet again unaware of what the next day would bring.