Live tracking here

We have had hundreds of emails this week (OK, one) asking where the live tracking pages can be found. If you click on the link below it will take you to the page, and if you type 222 into the search box, the current location and speed of the Newtrixmobile will be indicated. Look for the trail of pawprints behind......

http://vulcain.iritrack.net/tdcom/eviewer/abu13/
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Tension mounts. And falls off again.

Richard decided to teach me a lesson today, sending me a message minutes before Ian and Sheila set off. “One cyclinder mis-firing, suspect HT lead”. Great, just what you need to start the day with a smile. It’s just his way of letting me know that not all updates are necessary! Ian had correctly diagnosed the fault on the way to the Start line (here’s a tip Ian, next time, do that sort of thing driving to the bivouac after the Finish please) so it was a nail biting 4 hours of desert driving before they could stop at the service point in the deepest, darkest corner of Liwa. Actually, if we’re being honest, it’s really quite well lit down there at mid-day.



Richard Bailey. Top Bloke. Dodgy Overalls.

 Then Richard “Is than an HT lead in your pocket or are you just shocked to see me?” Bailey leapt into action, ripping the bonnet off with his bare hands and, having thus rid himself of the silly frilly lace up headgear he was wearing, shouted instructions at Ian as he got to work replacing the lead. But he had his back turned (see legal notice below) There was high tension in the air, which was a shame because it’s supposed to go down the cable from the coil to the spark plug, so having then remembered to put the other end onto the plug, Ian slammed the bonnet shut, gave Sheila the thumbs up and said “Let’s go love, she’s Champion”. “That’s odd” replied Sheila as the doggy duo drove desert wise in the direction of a daunting day’s duning destiny “I could have sworn they were NGKs”

Legal Notice

At no point during the “It’s not a Service Stop” did any members of the crew other than Ian or Sheila touch the car. Nobody else approached the car, looked in the general direction of the car, nor knowingly admitted the presence of a race car which may, or may not, have resembed a blue Nissan Patrol, had they in fact seen it. Which they didn’t. Because they weren’t there. They were sat next to me in Dubai at the time and I have three witnesses to that fact, only one of whom could be legally defined as being pathologically inebriated at the time. But the other two are trustworthy(ish) enough.

Legal Not Notice

Don’t worry, personal joke. You had to be there. But we weren’t there. Were we lads…..


Anyway, back to the thickening plot. With a woosh and a wave and a cheery parp parp (I blame the brussels) Ian and Sheila hurtled forth into the sandy bits, where they, um, got stuck about 45 seconds after the “Not a Service Stop”. Not to worry thought Ian, I’ll just get the car free and. Err, oh bugger. Ok well now I’ll get it free from this bit and erm… Well anyway, the view from the top of the dune was

The enitre SAR squadron, grounded. They wooden fly.

good and the radio reception meant that Sheila could get up to date with The Archers, but soon Ian was back in the car and off they jolly well trundled. If 125kmh on sand can be described as trundling. Which it can, in much the same way as falling out of a plane can be described as ‘a bit of a bump’. Speaking of industrial accidents, poor Malcolm and Patrick fell foul of a rather sad situation at the Not a Service Stop. Because so many medical evacuations had to be made (10% of the competitors had accidents today!), the helicopter refueling bowser at the nearest hospital (I know it well and have counted the ceiling tiles there for hours) was drained of its contents. In the words of Bob Marley “No Avgas no fly” and if No Fly then No Medics and no medics means that a lot of competitors who arrived shortly after Ian and Sheila departed the area, were told to return to the bivouac on tarmac and take a time penalty. Boo hiss. And STILL no cheerleaders.

Anyway at that moment Richard and Fred lost satellite reception. More precisely, I had to go and do a product demonstration 30kms from the office, so was unable to send Richard my customary “It’s two minutes since I last sent you an update as to their whereabouts” message. I would imagine Richard and Fred were frankly rather grateful. They were tension free for hours, much like the old spark plug lead.

When I returned to the office (yes, the demo went well, Thank You for asking) Ian and Sheila were just minutes from the finish line, having endured a 20 minute stuck about an hour earlier. Just imagine if during that time, a passing Khazakranianslav TV crew had been passing and offered their assistance. What a moral dilemma our glorious role models would have been faced with. Do we wave them on cheerily despite our exhaustion, or do we ask them to tow us out? Thankfully, no such event occurred, which was lucky.

Legal Notice

It just didn’t. Alright.

Ian and Sheila crossed the finish line at 4.20pm having started out at 9.45am in 39th place and finished in 21st place on the day. Coincidentally they will start out 21st overall tomorrow. Apparently before the start tomorrow, Nissan’s PR team are interviewing Ian and Sheila. Quite the media darlings now aren't they? Deny EVERYTHING guys & gals. You weren’t there. And I have the GPS data to prove it.

So another day duned and Ian and Sheila are ready to face Day Three tomorrow. They could probably do Day Four to be honest, but that would mess up everyone’s schedules, so Three it is. As I write, Richard is servicing the car (he’s allowed to in the bivouac – FIA regulations clearly state that he is) and Fred is beavering away. Presumably making dams out of pine trees.

RIP Iron Lady.

Stop the press!

No, don't stop it, keep it running, in fact print thousands of extra copies.

Ian and Sheila made the big time!! Front cover of The National newspaper's Sports section today (The National allegedly has around 27 more readers than this blog. So well into the tens of thousands then).

Strangely there was no mention of their hard working support team. Richard, Fred and I are consequently 'having words' with our respective PR agents.



Cor blimey, we're famous



Feeling a little Thor

Pedal to the, ahem, metal....

There have been times in the UAE when it didn’t rain for two and a half years. In fact the expression ‘saving for a rainy day’ has become so redundant that most of us spend all our money instead on wine, women (or Chippendales) and racing cars. The latter usually demanding the most cash, naturally. Today however, was a rainy day. A very rainy day, with evil, tainted skies generating daylight the colour of jaundice, calamitous thunderstorms, torrential rain (typical - I only washed my bloody car yesterday!) and an air of foreboding; just one bode away from a cataclysmic fiveboding, and we all know how bad that is.

Consequently those magnificent men in their hovery, inverted egg whisk’oplanes, couldn’t see the ground beneath them and so said they couldn’t fly. Here’s a clue Mr. Pilot – you were standing on it when you said you couldn’t fly. And if the helicopters don’t fly there’s no medical cover and if there’s no medical cover the race is delayed. This may not be popular with the competitors, but it IS good practice, and as a repeat beneficiary of those kind people in the SAR teams, I know it’s the right thing to do.

Here's a photo I prepared earlier.

Thus it was that Ian and Sheila were, along with all the other competitors, told to drive on tarmac to a point about 100kms into the rally stage and wait. And wait. And wait. Until eventually the winds died down, the balloon went up (well, OK, the helicopters), and our heroes were released into the wild yellow yonder and told to make their way to the bivouac. (Quick track, bivouac, give The Dog a home). So off they jolly well sped, with yours truly once again failing to get half his work done because the annoying thing about having live tracking on your computer is that you daren’t look away. You minimise it, ignore it, then after 10 minutes the temptation becomes too great and you start checking their position again. Then that of friends who are racing, then the race leaders, then people who look like they might be stuck, then back to car 222 again, then 242, then bike 27, etc. etc. And then you finally minimise the screen. But only for 10 minutes. Repeat ad nauseum.

That's how that I knew Newtrix were briefly stuck for a few minutes at around 1.30pm, then again for just a couple of minutes at around 2.30pm, but after that it was pedal to the metal and Ian and Sheila were soon leaving a trail of cars in their wake. What I didn’t know of course was that the drop into the first stuck had caused the radiator catch tank to work loose, which would later cause occasional overheating and thus the engine would kick into default “4 cylinder mode”. Now suddenly having 165 horsepower instead of 330 is not what you want when racing in the desert – but it’s better than cooking your engine, so whilst inconvenient, it wasn’t a game changer.



That JCB would have been useful today.



Throughout this time I kept updating poor Richard down in the desert, via SMS. A couple of times he thanked me for the news, but when he replied “Thanks for the updates, even though they give me heart attacks” I decided to keep the news to myself. This evening Ian called me to say that they had also been suffering from intermittent engine ‘çut outs’ and upon investigation tonight by Richard “I’ll check my list and find the cause” Bailey, it was determined that the wing mounted cut out switches were playing up, so he’s spanked them and sent them to bed early. We expect no further problems tomorrow or there’ll be trouble.

With Ian and Sheila cruising down a track at 100kmh and just 6kms from the finish line at about 4.30pm, I sent Richard what I now realise was a stupid text. “Nearly there” I said “put the kettle on”. Oh dear. Kiss of death. Dr. B.S. will not be doing that again. Just minutes from the finish line and with only one more line of dunes to cross, the desert reached up, grabbed the Dog by the tail and hung on to it. Stuck. Really, really stuck, spitting distance from the finish line. Not that there was any spitting to be done, because digging a car out of the sand for 90 minutes, yes folks, one and a half hours, doesn’t leave you with any spit left to waste.



Malcolm & Patrick had a good day and are lying 23rd overall.

 When it became clear that they were struggling I called Richard and Fred, and thanks to the wonders of modern technology, could give them I&S’s exact position, and tell them what appeared to be a quick and easy route to the car. I thought if the car was broken in some way we would be much better off getting there in daylight, regardless of the penalties to be incurred for receiving assistance. Trouble is, Google doesn’t update its maps every day (typical – lazy swines) and so when Richard tried to follow my directions he was faced with miles and miles of fencing instead of the open tracks I could see on my screen. Undeterred he headed off into the desert, and I was able to pick out both a gate in the fence, and a circuitous but apparently well traveled path which would get him to within 200 metres of Ian and Sheila. Halfway down this track and with the corrugated road rattling Richard and Fred’s teeth down to their root canals, he then received a message to say that after their energy sapping digging, Ian and Sheila were ‘free at last’ and heading for the finish line.

Ian rang me at around 9.30pm in high spirits, because despite the days woes, the car’s in one piece, the clutch is holding up, they’ve no penalties and they are ready to rock tomorrow from a position of 38th overall. So not a bad day in the desert after all.

Cote D'dust

Ladies, gentlemen, and those of you with spectacularly tight racing leathers, like Christmas, the FA Cup and International Left Handed Day (August 13th in case you were wondering), I’m back for my once a year, never to be repeated until next year appearance. Yes, tis I, The Phantom Blogger, custodian of the three holey socks, blogger of words, blagger of parts, bugger all use, and writer of those things which were once unspoken but which are now completely and utterly pixelated before your very eyes. 

Faster than a Ferrari World Roller Coaster

BUT, my miniontastic little munchkins, you may no longer address me as “The PB” for since we last met I have been endowed, some might even say well endowed, with an Honorary Doctorate. Oh yes I have. It’s pointless, intended purely for my own self promotion , and thoroughly undeserved, yet there it is on my wall for all to see. The Phantom Blogger, Honorary Doctor of Blog Scribing. You may simply refer to me as “Dr. B.S.” for short.



My presence can only mean one thing; that it’ll be a week before this blog makes any sense. Oh wait, two things. The second being that Ian and Sheila are away making loud burbly noises in the desert with their big metal box on wheels, alongside lots of other people who feel the need to do the same. Yes,the Abu Dhabi Desert Challenge 2013 is under way.  



This afternoon Ian, Sheila, Richard “It’ll be on my list somewhere” Bailey and Fred “I fancied a week off work” Santiago dragged their weary bodies down to the Prologue in Abu Dhabi. Now in NCAA football they have the Rose Bowl. And cheerleaders; Phantom likes cheerleaders….and in the NFL they have the Super Bowl. And cheerleaders. Phantom really, really likes cheerleaders. But the ADDC has what can best be described as the Dust Bowl. Which is all very well – but there are no cheerleaders. Just dust. Lots of dust. And on top of the dust, a light dusting of dust. And not a perky pair of pom poms in sight. Boo hiss.

 

Dust. Just dust. It's a must.



Just as you can be sure of overpriced roses on Valentine’s Day, so you can be sure of foul weather and DUST for the DC prologue. Of course you’ll never know that from the photos herewith attached, for such are my Lightroom skills (think Photoshop, only better) that you see only fantastic pictures of our heroic racers, but the strong winds which blew up yesterday morning continued to blow throughout this afternoon, reducing visibility to “three tenths of a little bit”. This does not please anyone who drives down to AUH for 90 minutes only to have their face and more importantly camera gear sandblasted into oblivion. But never mind, I knew it would all be worthwhile when Ian and Sheila saw me on the sidelines, preserving those precious race moments for all time. “Oh you were there were you, we didn’t see you” said Ian as we spoke later on the phone. No, well that would be because I was the only 6’ tall photographer in a fluorescent yellow vest!! But they didn’t see me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m known as “The Phantom”

  

Nextrix Racing, 2013 stylee!



Ian drove sensibly (imagine that!) to preserve the car and Newtrix finished the prologue on 25th place, exactly halfway through the 49 car field. Now you might argue that 25th is halfway through a 50 car field but I would disagree. You see there are 24 cars ahead of them, and 24 behind them, so they’re halfway. If you have a problem with that, please send me a postcard.  

1.2kms in and Mabbsy's already lost his co-driver!



Other local racers of note include Malcolm Anderson and Patrick McMurren (#242) of Team Dune Raider, who finished the day in 41st (thus making a mockery of the seeding system which had put them way back in 42nd place) Seb Husseini (Quad #139) in 4th, Colin Mercer (Quad #138) 13th, Alan Boyter (Bike #36) 47th and the inimitable Mr. David Mabbs, who, having emptied the UAE of people insane enough to co-drive alongside him, has taken to two wheels and this year is competing on bike #27 (44th in the prologue).

Ian told me this evening that he fears the race car’s clutch is not as healthy as it might be, so first thing tomorrow I’m to try to track down the only other known clutch of its type in the country. Yes, really. Looks like the DC has started! 

Flying the Flag

Thursday morning it's time for a quick blat down to Abu Dhabi to complete all the documentation formalities, hand over a large wad of cash and pick up a rally GPS, the Iritrack satellite tracker and a bunch of stickers and paperwork.

By the time we're back, Richard has turned up in Sheila's Prado with the borrowed trailer on tow.  Although slightly delayed by the need to fit new tyres to the trailer, it is now a Mobile Workshop.  The trailer is straining under the weight of Richards tools, my tools, spares and...well....stuff.

GPS, Iritrack and stickers are added to the race car and by 5pm we're car 222.  And I'm knackered, and I think Richard is too.

Friday we do the neighbourhood a favour by taking the convoy to Yas for scrutineering, which proceeds without any serious hitches.  We've decided to take everything over to Rally HQ (support pits) , offload the race car, the Prado and the service trailer into their carpark, and bring back the road-going Patrol with the empty trailer.  Such a simple plan - what could possibly go wrong?

Well,  plenty, actually.  After dropping off the race car, I notice a pool of water under the other Patrol.  Further investigation reveals a hose to the header tank has been chewed up by a pulley, and Richard is immediately into mechanic mode..  While he does so I look under the Prado - and find another puddle.  This time its ATF, which means there's a leak in the power steering.  Bugger, and more bugger.

Another hose has chafed through.  I consider revisiting the Two Ronnies sketch ('Got any 'ose?') but decide against it.  Fortunately it turns out to be a low pressure line, and once again Richard disappears under the engine to sort it out.  Just as well he's brought his entire armoury of tools (and 'oses), because he's used most of them before the rally even starts.

Finally we're back in Dubai to load up the last few items onto the trailer, which Richard will take direct to the bivvy after the prologue is over.

Tomorrow, the final member of Team NewTrix, Fred Santiago, will join us as we head back once more to Yas for....The Prologue.  We can but hope that we've used up our quota of mechanical disasters already...

Almost ready - time to think

Yes, we've sorted out the troublesome hubs.  That was a late night, but we're confident that they'll hold now.  Richard refitted the battery tray with its shiny new battery, and sorted out a wiring fault to give an emergency power feed to the fans - in case we need it.  It's been up to Ben Sulayem Garage, then the RTA and received its new estemara.  Sheila's Prado, which will be the service mule, has been serviced. 

Yesterday my friends at Nanjgel Garage changed the lubes on the race car and fixed an oil leak from a front hub, but had a drama during their test drive.  The engine just stopped.  Fuel? No.  Fuel pump? Hmm, neither pump was working.  So it had to be the battery isolator.  Turned out that one of the external cut-offs had cut-off for no obvious reason, but wouldn't re-set.  Further investigation showed that the two firex switches were also u/s, so we've replaced all four external switches with new Schneider units.  A consignment of metal tyre valves turned up on my desk, to replace all the old rubber ones - the four on the car and four spares.  Arabian Automobiles called, and my sale-or-return parts are all ready for collection.  Things feel like they are coming together.

We had a Team Meeting today, which sounds rather grand.  It was three-quarters of the team - Sheila, Richard and myself.  Fred had been dragged away to do some actual work for a customer.  (Customers, eh? No consideration.)  Richard is well ahead of us in terms of lists and plans.  (He admits to being 'a bit O.C.D.', but I've reassured him that it doesn't make you a bad person.)  But it'll be his first time in Liwa, and we're bringing him up to speed with the geography of the area and the process of the rally.

I was sat at the traffic lights the other day, and just imagined being at the start.  Airing down the tyres.  Chatting slightly nervously to the other teams.  Having a final wee.  Sheila and I, fastening each other's helmet straps.  Checking the time, joining the queue for time control.  Watching the car in front disappear into the dust, into the distance.  Then forward to the start, checking we're in 4WD.  The cameras, the 'good-luck' wishes from friends we only see once a year.  The start light column, my heart racing, pounding, as its red sectors count off the final seconds in synch with the starter's hand signals.....

That's the rush.  Just imagining it sent my pulse rate soaring.  Once we're moving, I can settle into a rhythm and start to relax a little.  But it's a continual tightrope act - keeping up enough speed to be in the chase, but not pushing too hard at wrong moment, chosing the right risks to take and the ones to back away from.  This may be our last year of competitive rallying and I badly want to do well.  All the prep, all the expense, all Richard's hard work boils down to the next 2000km.  One wrong decision, and it's all down the drain.

As Streaky would say, it's going to be emotional.