The second round in the Emirates Desert
Championship. 2 hours in the desert up near Lihbab, some nice sand
there and it’s much cooler than the last time. And I have my favourite
co-driver beside me. So what could possibly go wrong?
Plenty, as it turns out. The first lap is interrupted
by our colliding with the white Nissan which started 30 seconds ahead of
us. Mr Cherednikov had managed to stall it on the blind side of a dune, and 30
seconds isn’t really enough time to get out and warn people. He finally
gets it going again but we get ahead of him. We’re now the leading car
and make an error navigating a passage control, which Sheila quickly spots, and
we’re back on track. On the second lap we make a rather superb overtake
(in all modesty) on a buggy as we go through the one decent flat stretch of the
lap, where I’m up to 140kph. But just after that, Sheila tells me
she’s about to be sick - so I stop. She decides not to be sick, but
clearly isn’t in a fit state to continue, so I carefully drive to the pits and
hand her over to the medics. John Spiller kindly agrees that I can
continue solo, so off I go again. I’ve lost about half an hour, but at
least I can get a finish and score some points.
I rejoin the start-finish straight just ahead of
Mansoor Parol, and quickly leave him behind, and complete three quick laps, overtaking a couple of buggies in the process. But on the final lap, I
miss a gear change going up a dune and crest out on the top. Bugger!
Still, no problem, I have 4 sand tracks in the back. Or rather, I started with
4 sand tracks. But at some point it apears they’ve made a bid for freedom, so
it’s out with the shovel. Dig, dig, dig. Sweat, cuss, bugger.
It’s not coming out. I’d better phone rally control. Ooops – apparently that's something else I don't have - it's with Sheila. Bugger. Oh well, the sweep team will
be along in a minute, I’m on rally route, I have plenty of water so I make
myself comfortable in the shade of my stricken steed. I’m 3.2km from the
bivvy, and the rule is ‘stay with your car’. And anyway I don’t fancy the
walk.
Some time later that day, some bloke passes by in a Wrangler
who kindly gives me a pull off the dune. Hurrah! What a nice
bloke. Now what to do? Head down rally route to the finish?
No, it’s a long way and I’ve DNF’d anyway, so no point. Head back
contra-rally-route? That’s a bit dodgy, I’ll probably run slap bang into
the sweep team – assuming there is one. Sod it, I’ll just navigate
straight line back to the bivvy.
I’m 1.8km short of it when I get
the bloody thing stuck again! What a plonker!
Now, to heck with the rules. I’ll walk. I have
water, I have a GPS and the exercise is good for me. (Well, so it may be,
but it’s not so good for my brand new race boots, which disintegrate half way
there. The soles have come off and are flapping around and I’m not
impressed.) Just as I approach the bivvy, a nice lady in another Wrangler
(I’ve decided I like Wranglers) picks me up and takes me the last 250m.
Everyone’s been out looking for me, they have actually found
my car (but not the footprints of me leaving it!) and panic is starting to set
in as I arrive. Someone has very kindly picked up and returned my errant
sand ladders, Sheila is fit and well, the only damage is to my pride and my
points tally. (Oh, and my reputation - I am rightly bollocked for not having a phone with me and causing consternation in rally control.)
But the damage is less than I’d expected. Mr
Cherednikov has apparently not scored any T1 points
either. So I haven’t lost my lead in the T1 class, and although a few
more points in the overall championship would have been nice, I’m not in the
running to beat the buggy boys to a trophy.
As always, some nice pix of the event courtesy of Tim Ansell - more on www.slrpm.com
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جزاكم الله خيرا"
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