Yesterday's report, today. Try to keep up. I'll ask questions tomorrow.
So, Day 1, the first proper race day in the dunes, and usually a day when the organisers have just a modicum of sympathy for the racers so the course is slightly shorter and easier than the following days. Of course Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom decided that meant the competitors were all pansies, so she turned the wick up. RIGHT up. Many of the moto riders, including friends of the team Alan Boyter and David Mabbs, retired from the race due to heat exhaustion, or accidents brought about by the effects of the same. Ian and Sheila didn't succumb to the heat but sadly, after making good progress for the first 200kms or so of the stage, The Beast did.
Without warning and with no prior indications that there was a problem, suddenly Ian discovered he had no drive. No efforts to engage drive seemed to help, and after a while, they called in the A Team to come and rescue them from the clutches of the dunes.Which was ironic since as they would find out later - much later - it was in fact the clutch which was FUBAR.
Nor was that the only drama, for as Rick and Kate were driving out to the point on the road where the fantastic Sweep Team had recovered The Beast, their own Patrol (actually Ian's Patrol, not Rick's Patrol, although he does have one, nor Dawn's Patrol) overheated, meaning they had to abandon their attempt to meet The Beast, so Jason drove up instead and stood guard over the race car whilst Ian and Sheila, who had no clothes (well, obviously they had SOME clothes - their sweaty race overalls) headed back to the bivouac with somebody (frankly I've lost track) and then couldn't shower. Yeeuch.
So Jason spent his birthday baby sitting a sorry looking Patrol, Rick spent his evening fixing a different Patrol, Kate did some knitting, Cristina contemplated the solar system, Phil wondered where everyone had buggered off to, and The Phantom Blogger (oh, that's me) worked out how to blog.
Finally The Beast got a lift to the bivouac and Rick and others ( I know not whom but I guess Jason and Phil) ripped its innards outward, decided the clutch was bereft of life, and summonsed T-Phlog sur la telling-bone. "Though shalt go to 1000 Dunes garage at 8 am tomorrow, go to the main workshop doors, walk inside 8 paces. 7 paces is too few, 9 paces is too many, and 10 paces is WAY out. Turn left, walk 5 paces (not 4, not 6) forward, reach down with your right hand and LO, there shall be a box marked "This is the clutch you are looking for" at your finger tips. Collect said clutch and anything else you can lay your hands on, jump into a rapid automobile and drive, drive like the wind, for yet another illicit liaison with the great Kate. Don't be late, remember, start at eight."
Today's News now - well done, you've caught up.
So I was all ready to do so at 7.15 this morning when I received a message. "It's the gearbox, delay your visit to 1000 Dunes". So I did, and had a nice cup of coffee, disturbed by Rick's urgent phone call at 8. "No, only kidding, now it's 45 minutes later and we wish you were there, it's the clutch, hop to it, sharpish now, stop buggering about". You know that noise Muttley used to make when Dick Dastardly annoyed him? That.
So great haste was made, clutches were clutched, doors were slammed, petrol was consumed, roads were punished, and I was rewarded with hugs and kisses by not one but TWO fair maidens at the side of the road halfway to Qasr Al Sarab - underneath a never opened restaurant disguised as a giant Land Rover, and in full daylight! Which makes a change because when Kate and I usually meet, she likes to switch the lights off.
Cristina proved her petrol-head credentials by looking at one of my car tyres and saying 'Looks a bit flat' and lo (low?), she was right. A difference of only 4 psi (37 not 41 - yes it's high but so would you be driving at 140kmh when the outside temperature is 50C) but well spotted that girl.
They raced back, I raced forward, Rick paced backwards and forwards, Phil was a little forward, Jason laid back, and Ian and Sheila spent the day in a bar getting wasted (it's not true but hey, this story needs an angle - Fake News!!)
Metallic things were bolted, unbolted, wobbled around, lubricated, aligned, spanked, torqued to nicely and generally manipulated, until The Beast was a car again and the whole team had a beer. But of course, being Newtrix, that wasn't straight forward, oh no. The clutch plate was a different diameter, so the flywheel didn't match, and the replacement flywheel had no starter gear ring, so that had to be fitted, and we're using the old release plate, new fly wheel, new clutch etc. Once that was finally finished, Ian and Rick took it for a test drive, got stuck, there was no phone reception, so they couldn't call for help, they walked back to the bivouac, Jason went out and winched them out the sand, etc. etc. etc. Just another day at the DC really!
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| Ian and Sheila singing, "I believe I can fly" |
Without warning and with no prior indications that there was a problem, suddenly Ian discovered he had no drive. No efforts to engage drive seemed to help, and after a while, they called in the A Team to come and rescue them from the clutches of the dunes.Which was ironic since as they would find out later - much later - it was in fact the clutch which was FUBAR.
 |
| The underside of a UFO |
So Jason spent his birthday baby sitting a sorry looking Patrol, Rick spent his evening fixing a different Patrol, Kate did some knitting, Cristina contemplated the solar system, Phil wondered where everyone had buggered off to, and The Phantom Blogger (oh, that's me) worked out how to blog.
Finally The Beast got a lift to the bivouac and Rick and others ( I know not whom but I guess Jason and Phil) ripped its innards outward, decided the clutch was bereft of life, and summonsed T-Phlog sur la telling-bone. "Though shalt go to 1000 Dunes garage at 8 am tomorrow, go to the main workshop doors, walk inside 8 paces. 7 paces is too few, 9 paces is too many, and 10 paces is WAY out. Turn left, walk 5 paces (not 4, not 6) forward, reach down with your right hand and LO, there shall be a box marked "This is the clutch you are looking for" at your finger tips. Collect said clutch and anything else you can lay your hands on, jump into a rapid automobile and drive, drive like the wind, for yet another illicit liaison with the great Kate. Don't be late, remember, start at eight."
Today's News now - well done, you've caught up.
 |
| No-trix racing today so... "Sam Sunderland" |
So great haste was made, clutches were clutched, doors were slammed, petrol was consumed, roads were punished, and I was rewarded with hugs and kisses by not one but TWO fair maidens at the side of the road halfway to Qasr Al Sarab - underneath a never opened restaurant disguised as a giant Land Rover, and in full daylight! Which makes a change because when Kate and I usually meet, she likes to switch the lights off.
Cristina proved her petrol-head credentials by looking at one of my car tyres and saying 'Looks a bit flat' and lo (low?), she was right. A difference of only 4 psi (37 not 41 - yes it's high but so would you be driving at 140kmh when the outside temperature is 50C) but well spotted that girl.
They raced back, I raced forward, Rick paced backwards and forwards, Phil was a little forward, Jason laid back, and Ian and Sheila spent the day in a bar getting wasted (it's not true but hey, this story needs an angle - Fake News!!)
Metallic things were bolted, unbolted, wobbled around, lubricated, aligned, spanked, torqued to nicely and generally manipulated, until The Beast was a car again and the whole team had a beer. But of course, being Newtrix, that wasn't straight forward, oh no. The clutch plate was a different diameter, so the flywheel didn't match, and the replacement flywheel had no starter gear ring, so that had to be fitted, and we're using the old release plate, new fly wheel, new clutch etc. Once that was finally finished, Ian and Rick took it for a test drive, got stuck, there was no phone reception, so they couldn't call for help, they walked back to the bivouac, Jason went out and winched them out the sand, etc. etc. etc. Just another day at the DC really!
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